


Not all those who wander...

by I_Am_Many



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Multiple Personalities, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Steve and Bucky need a holiday, Thailand, Travel, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Many/pseuds/I_Am_Many
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s your birthday in a little while, where do you wanna go champ?"<br/>"I don’t know… Take me somewhere nice.” was my answer. And he did.<br/>After the event of "Civil War", and once the dust has settled down, Steve and Bucky decide to go on a trip around Thailand, just the two of them, to finally catch up on all the lost years and re-discover each other, far from the world's prying eyes.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> So here is the deal: this is the fanfiction I've been talking about for so long. It's the "Thailand Stucky fanfic", the one that has little Easter eggs in nearly all my other works.
> 
> It is not finished, but I am posting the Prologue to get your opinion, because I want to know what you think, and because it would be encouragement to keep going (I already have 7 chapters written, and have a structure and ideas for at least 5 others), cause it's hard to keep writing when your life makes you feel like crap. Doesn't help inspiration.
> 
> Anyway, this prologue gives you my own version of Post CACW events and how they unfolded to get to the start of Steve and Bucky's travel. Also, Deinthang actually means "travel" in Thai, so there you go.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> *****************************

It had been hard. Worst than hard. I don’t really think there was any word to describe the deep tear that had taken place in the Avengers, in me. When you don’t know what’s right or what’s wrong anymore, when you’re a soldier without orders, everything becomes complicated. Then it gets worse when you’re not fighting only for yourself but need to protect someone else. Because some couldn’t understand why at the time. Because some only saw the ghost story, the ruthless assassin, the Winter Soldier, where I saw Bucky.

Fortunately the worst of it was behind us. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy, we couldn’t just “hug it out” (though Sam did suggest it at some point, adding he would hug Tony “especially tight, around the neck”). Not only were there friendships to mend, alliances to renew, a team to consolidate, but more importantly, we had to gain the trust of the people back. Because even if our hands were still the safest ones, they had nevertheless managed to do a lot of damage. Involuntary, yes, but still damage. And gaining back that trust could only be done together, all of us as a team, showing a united front once more. Which is precisely why some of us needed a break, getting away to lick our wounds and coming back even stronger. Bucky understood that very quickly, maybe because he was the most eager to leave all of it behind.

On top of that, it would be the perfect occasion to actually reconnect. From the moment I found him in his tiny Bucharest apartment, we had barely spent any time together other than fighting or running. I was blamed for more and more things, called a fugitive, tracked down. And juggling between that weight on my shoulders and fighting for Buck had been a real challenge.  
So, at the end of this so called war, we hid. Waiting for Tony's anger to subside, for the world to open its eyes. While in Wakanda, Bucky decided at first to be put back on ice for a while, thinking he was still too much of a threat, even with his metal arm gone. I looked him right in the eyes as the pod closed and cryo-gas started filling it. His last reflex was to put his hand on the glass, looking at me, and I mimicked his gesture, my palm against his, feeling the temperature dropping underneath the already cold surface. Then he was gone, asleep. It didn't last long though, as it seemed the Wakandan technology in cryopreservation wasn't suitable for an ex Hydra super assassin.

From that moment, Sam and I tried to work with him, see what he could recall, getting some memories back. But we discovered very quickly and in the worst way, as in me being nearly strangled to death and Sam plus various facility staff being knocked unconscious, that pushing too hard or too far could have awful consequences. Bucky wanted to remember, he still had a mouth like a sailor when he got going, and could be the sarcastic jerk I knew him to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one in his own body now: the Winter Soldier was still there, fighting its way to the surface, and so was Sasha, a nickname for his Russian identity. Sometimes, out of mental exhaustion or stress, either one of them would unexpectedly win that battle and take control once again, lashing out or deciding to make a run for it in the jungle, which made it even harder to spend time with him other than tracking him down.

After a while though, it seemed like the “flight” reflex was somehow fading away, and the attacks became much less frequent, as Sam and I got to know Sasha. It was still a very foreign concept to see Bucky’s body thinking, acting and talking in a completely different way to what I knew and remembered. Sasha was… “lacking” basic social skills, bordering on something I learned was called “Asperger”, making him much more “open” about everything, including what had happened to him, since he didn’t see how the things he said would affect people. Would affect me. It seemed Sasha remembered much more of the… “process” of becoming the Winter Soldier, of some missions, and even if that knowledge seemed to crawl its way out to Bucky in a kind of merging effect, most of it stayed confined to Sasha’s mind, surely as a kind of mental coping mechanism. He told us about his arm’s operation, about Hydra breaking him, the cell without windows, the sleep depravation, the humiliations, the Chair, until he saw my face and Bucky would surface back somehow, shutting up or trying to make a joke to cover it all up.

These were still the best moments, when that jerk tried to make me laugh or would pick Sam’s brain about new things he didn’t know about me yet. He would then proceed to write it all down in one of his notebooks, his own personal archive and the only real recording of any and every memories he’d recovered. One time he gave me an empty one and asked me to write or even draw in it, so that he’d be sure it was all real and not another one of Hydra's elaborate torture. Because Bucky, even if in better control, would never be the same. Everything that happened to him, the path he went on as the Winter Soldier, could never be erased or undone. A path that brought him to the brink of death once Tony found out.

I did resent all of them a bit, though not for long. But none more than Tony. First for not understanding how important it was, then for not seeing what I was seeing and making things worse when the crisis was already solved. I know the loss of his parents was devastating, I remember my mother's death like it was yesterday. Up til that moment, I only resented him, though I understood. Then he wouldn't listen, wouldn't stop, and I started hating him. For a while, I truly hated him for what he did, how he mutilated Bucky once more. The rage I felt was indescribable, so raw and overwhelming, even a part of me was afraid of it, of myself and of what I could do or how far I could go. Fortunately, I remembered when to stop before using my shield in an irredeemable way. Stark definitely saw my dark side that day, which in a way made him finally understand how I felt and why I was fighting teeth and nails.

A couple of months later, once the dust had settled, just like our differences, I received a call on the burner phone I set up for Tony, sent with my letter. He had convinced Secretary Ross to put aside the Accord for a while, letting us back into the country. He and Bucky had a long talk, just the two of them (though I was right outside, circling around the glass walls just in case), where I think they came to an understanding, as Tony agreed to replace the arm. He made an even better, more efficient and, most of all, Hydra-free version of it, which was then “fitted” with the help of Dr. Cho. Buck had to be put under for the whole thing, the procedure being a painful one as they first needed to take out what was left of the previous metallic limb. It was then that I discovered he had an implanted port, which was perfect for the anesthesia, but made me lose it when I realized what it had previously been used for by Hydra. It was simply too much. How could people do that to another human being?? I would never understand.

I promised Bucky I’d be here when he’d wake up, but had to leave right after he went under, the anger boiling in me. I tried running for miles on end, going to the gym and hitting the bags until my hands started slightly hurting, but the rage kept coming, again and again, in waves, only faltered by deep guilt. I went home, took a long shower, but once out, the waves kept crashing over me, causing the destruction of half my apartment. Whenever I tried calming myself down, I’d once more think of Bucky being strapped to that “Chair”, confused, being treated like an animal, triggered by words, like a machine to simply fuel up and send back to its sordid tasks, and things got broken again. Walls got punched too. Until the neighbors called the police, and the police called the New Avengers facility, where Hill ”dispatched” Sam and Nat. They finally managed to calm me down and helped me clean up the mess that was my place before leaving to see Bucky, as he was due to wake up soon.

His new arm looked quite similar to the old one, even though I knew it was loaded with the most recent technology (including a holographic skin and a tracker). Maybe a bit more refined, with smaller plates, looking a bit like scales of a shiny, silver lizard. A lizard without a symbol, yet. When I asked, Bucky said he was still attached to the star, adding that I had a star as a symbol too, and that it didn’t necessarily have to represent malevolent forces (or as he actually put it, and I quote: “those Hydra sons of bitches and their fucking agenda”) so I obliged and painted it back on, making it white circled with blue and red this time, mimicking my shield. “Fucking patriotic” was what he called it, giving me the biggest smile I had seen on his face since getting him back. The kind of smile that made me happy.

A very short recovery time was needed after a Cradle operation, and Bucky still being “super human” also helped. Which meant he came home with me three days later. Even if he didn’t know my apartment, he very quickly realized something had gone wrong here, the several holes in some of the living room’s walls not exactly inconspicuous either. So he asked for my phone, my computer being… let’s say “irremediably damaged”, and started looking for plane tickets. His “flight” reflex was still here, quite literally, but at least, this time, he decided to take me with him. He thought that we should find a nice, quiet place to put the pieces back together and finally have all the time we needed to catch up, just the two of us, to which I could only agree. Plus, my birthday was coming up in a month or so, and since that was one of the things he took pride in remembering, he simply asked:

**“It’s your birthday in a little while, where do you wanna go champ?"**

**"I don’t know… Take me somewhere nice.”** was my answer. And he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila!  
> For those of you who are curious as to what an IP or Implanted Port is, here is more information: http://www.macmillan.org.uk/information-and-support/treating/chemotherapy/being-treated-with-chemotherapy/implantable-ports.html
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I truly appreciate every kudos you lovely bunch, but I would be immensely grateful for comments and constructive criticism! 
> 
> Love you all!!


	2. Resfeber (swedish: nervous feeling you get before a journey.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even simply packing gave me some kind of rush, as I realized I had never been anywhere outside the States that wasn't mission related. Captain America doesn't really get paid vacations or sick days. So the excitement was real, and it grew to the point that I was actually grinning by the time we arrived at JFK."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> so, to prove to myself that this fanfiction is *not* cursed (or that it's at least worth reading), I decided to publish the first chapter!  
> And I'd like to dedicate it to my mom, who was the one to introduce me to Dune and the mantra that you will read about in this chapter.  
> Also, while writing it, I did a lot of research on where they would go, how they would go there, what they would, etc... and started making a map to help organize myself... well guess what? I decided to share it with you, so you can follow Steve and Bucky adventures step by step:  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=1o2yPbAKURhBjgGtyPeUW9Y5hIYM&usp=sharing
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ******************

The flight was planned for two days after Bucky booked the tickets, which gave us the time to have a small get together at Sam's place (mine still being a war zone). Sharon had flown in on Roth's orders for some mission and decided to pop by. We hadn't had time to talk after this whole mess, and I could see Sam giving me his “go get her tiger!” look from a distance. Bucky... I'm not so sure.  
I simply told her that in the heat of the moment the kiss seemed like a good idea, but that right now I needed time to think. Which she seemed to understand, giving a weird side glance to Bucky.  
I also went to put fresh flowers on Peggy's grave. Buck came along, which I was glad for because in that moment, I realized I wished he'd been with me at the funerals. I asked Sam and Nat to please come and change the flowers regularly, or as often as they could, which they promised they would do.

Finally departure day came, our flight to Suvarnabhumi Airport at ten to three, but we were at the airport maybe 6h before thanks to Mr. Barnes' irrational fear (or maybe old mental conditioning) of missing the plane. I have to admit that I was too antsy to stay at the apartment anyway. Even simply packing gave me some kind of rush, as I realized I had never been anywhere outside the States that wasn't mission related. Captain America doesn't really get paid vacations or sick days. So the excitement was real, and it grew to the point that I was actually grinning by the time we arrived at JFK.

Going through security was a challenge for Buck, as in “I've got a whole arm made out of metal, but it looks like a normal one thanks to a hologram.” And also because he had knives in his backpack, which somehow seemed normal for him to take in a cabin luggage. We finally managed to get his backpack as hold luggage, retrieving his last notebook before it was checked-in. Yes, being a national hero does help sometimes. That and a few autographs, but Bucky still had to go in one of those “interrogation room” on the side. The face of the TSA officer when he came out was priceless.

We had a stop over in Hong Kong, which was a relief because, who would have thought Bucky was an anxious flyer? My theory would be that taking the plane unconsciously reminds him of when he had to go on international missions for Hydra. It makes me sick, but I keep it to myself.  
Fortunately, he booked tickets in Business class, so he had all the comfort and space to stretch and walk around to cool off, though he didn't sleep once in the 16h the flight took. Which means I couldn't either. So we listened to some of the "Neutral" playlist (we really ought to find it a proper name). He wrote and I drew, and we talked and watched the same movie each on our own screen with one earphone out to hear the other's reactions, etc... They had a selection of old pictures, including “Swing Time”... I don't think he remembers the day we went to watch it, though I do, and tried not to blush throughout the whole thing. But let's not digress.

We just got off the flight and now have 3h55 to wait in Hong Kong...  
**“Let's b–"**  
**"Book a hotel room!"**  
**"My thought exactly."**  
**"I know I kept you up the whole flight, sorry champ."**  
**"It's fine Buck, don't worry about it.** _ **”**_ I say, smiling.  
We set an alarm then collapse on our beds, sleeping for two hours straight before taking a quick shower each and getting to our boarding gate.  
Out again to Bangkok, a much shorter flight, which makes Bucky more relaxed, even though he still crushes my hand at take-off and landing. It's too bad neither of us can get drunk anymore, and Cathay Pacific doesn't carry Asgardian liquor so...

Bangkok International airport is beautiful, with walls of orchids and huge glass windows up to the ceiling through which the starry sky is visible.  
Our other flight to who knows where isn't due until tomorrow morning, so we take the shuttle to the Novotel and, surprise, Bucky had already booked a room.  
**“Good evening sir."**  
**"Good evening. Reservation for a double room under the name Morozoff."**  
**"Yes, could I see an ID please?”** Bucky is using his Russian passport, with his old Russian name. I never call him by his full name though, even when that personality is... “out”. Rather, I use his nickname, Sasha. He seems to like it, which is fine by me.  
**“Very well Mr Morozoff. You've got a superior twin room with included breakfast. Can I do anything else for you?"**  
**"You do have 24h room service right?"**  
**"That's correct. Would you like to order anything?"**  
**"Yes, a bottle of vodka and some ice cubes please.”**  
I look at the hostess who doesn't flinch, but I do. Vodka? In the middle of the night?  
**“That will be no problem sir."**  
**"Also, can I smoke in the room?"**  
**"Unfortunately, all the rooms are under a strict no-smoking policy. But you can go to the smoking area or at the poolside bar. The service has stopped, but it is in free access 24/7."**  
**"Thank you”**

We follow the pageboy towards the elevator, then up to our room. We have a view on the pool which looks like a dream, with the crystal clear water and dimly lit statues. Bucky leaves his bag on one of the beds  
**“I'm taking this side!"**  
**"Closer to the exit?"**  
**"You know me too well. I'm going for a smoke at the poolside, wanna join?"**  
**"No, have you seen the tub? There's no way I'm not taking a bath here! And someone's got to be here when the vodka arrives, remember? By the way, what was that about?"**  
**"Oh, well, I don't really know. It just felt like an old reflex..."**  
**"So... you're telling me you got hammered before your missions as the Winter Soldier?"**  
**"Hey, maybe it was after, just go ask Hydra about it. They're the one who messed with my brain and gave me a shitty personality, or two actually! Maybe one of them is an alcoholic!"**  
**"Ha. Ha. Very funny."**  
**"Come on punk, lighten up. If I can make jokes about it, so can you!"**  
**"Humph... I guess. Anyway, I thought you were going for a smoke."**  
**"Yes. See ya' in a bit champ!"**  
**"See you!”**

I start running myself a steaming hot, bubbly bath and three minutes after Bucky left, there's a knock on the door: vodka and ice cubes.  
I go to the window, looking down: there's Bucky, seating down, smoking. I haven't seen him like this in a long time. He looks so relaxed, so...casual, with his red Henley on and his hair in a bun. I never expected to, but, I love when he gets all his hair in a man bun, and fusses over the few strands trying to escape before cursing and giving up. I catch myself smiling and... I don't really know why, or maybe don't want to.  
_Shit, the bath!!_  
Fortunately, the tub is quite big, but I still have to empty some water if I don't want it to overflow when I get in. I take my clothes off, leave them on my bed and grab the vodka on my way to the bathroom. Maybe it will help me figure out why I smiled like an idiot. Or at least distract me fro the thought.

After chugging half the vodka, I let the bottle rest on the inside corner of the tub and play distractedly with the thick foam, wondering where we're going tomorrow. Bucky told me we were going to Thailand, and that we would stop in Bangkok. But after that, nothing. He's been keeping me in the dark, and he's annoyingly good at it.  
I hear the door open and close, some footsteps, then:  
**“Steven Grant Rogers, where the hell is my vodka??”** Bucky would never use my full name unless I was gonna get scolded.  
**“In heeeere...”** I reply, with my most innocent voice, as he continues from the bedroom.  
**“Oh great! goddamnit! Now I have to see you take a bath to get to my bottle!"  
** **"It's ok, there's lots of bubbles, I promise you won't see anything."**  
**"What???”** I suspect it was the bubbles more than the vodka that actually convinced him to come in. I mean, it's not everyday that you see Captain America in a bubble bath with a wet mohawk and a beard made out of foam. Bucky looks at me, half exasperated, half amused.  
**“You're a ridiculous numbskull Rogers, you know that?"  
** **"Uh-huh"**  
**"Don't you “uh-huh” me, and wipe that smug smile off your face, smarty-pants. Now give me my vodka!"**  
**"It's right here.** **”** I reply, showing him the bottle. He leans over me to grab it and I take advantage of the situation to splash him.  
He stares at me with a murderous look, his rebel strands drenched and dripping on his shirt, then walks away with his bottle as I laugh. A few seconds later I hear him come back and...  
**“OH MY G–"  
** **"See, you shouldn't have done that. I am a ruthless assassin. I always retaliate.”**  
For a split second, I don't know how to react. I mean, he just emptied a bottle of ice cold water on me, but I'm not sure if he's joking anymore. Until he starts laughing like a kid.  
**“Okay okay, you won. Now get out of here!”**

I come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, once I've dried my hair and wrapped a towel around my waist, to find Bucky seating on his bed, writing in his notebook:  
**“You writing about how amazing I looked with a foam beard?"  
** **"No, though I'm sure Tony would love to know you enjoy bubbles in your bath. I'm just writing about what a little shit you are.”**  
He turns his head to look at me and I notice him “freeze” for a few seconds.  
**“Wow... they... really did a number on you."  
** **"That's what you get when you let a german scientist experiment on you."**  
**"I did too, and got a bonus metal arm, so technically, I won again."**  
**"I didn't know it was a contest!”**  
I take my clothes and go back to the bathroom to change into my night sweatpants.  
**“The bathtub is all yours!"  
** **"I think I'll just take a shower. The vodka might be having some kind of placebo effect, I'm actually feeling tired."**  
**"Yeah me too.”**  
I watch TV while Bucky showers, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier.  
**“Hey... heeey, Steve?"**  
**"Hmm... what?”** I'm startled by Bucky standing close to me in full pj's.  
**“You fell asleep in front of the TV pal. Here, get under the covers."**  
**"Hm, yeah, thanks. Goodnight Bucky."**  
**"Goodnight Steve.”**

I wake up in the middle of the night, eyes wide open. Damn jet lag. Turning around to check on Bucky, the only sight I have is an empty bed. Where is he?? I bolt out of bed to go get my phone. Shit, the battery is dead. I look around for a sign, a note, something! Putting on a t-shirt, I dart out the room and, instead of waiting for the elevator, go down the emergency staircase, jumping steps four at a time.  
The receptionist is still the same as when we arrived:  
**“Hi"**  
**"Hello sir, how may I help?"**  
**"I... Have you seen Mr. Morozov? Tall, mid-length hair, 5 o'clock shadow."**  
**"Yes. He asked me if the gym was open."**  
**"Where's the gym??"**  
**"Right over there, take a left, at the end of the hallway”**  
I start running before she finishes her sentence.  
**“Thank you!”**  
I nearly crash through the door but stop myself and open it instead. Bucky is right there, on a treadmill. What the...?  
**“Hey Steve! Can't sleep either?"  
** **"Don't you do that. Ever again."**  
**"What? What's wrong?”**  
He comes off the machine and gives me a puzzled look.  
**"You... you just left! We're not in Wakanda anymore, I don't have a whole team to help me track you! And your bed was empty and you didn't leave a note and my phone was dead so I couldn't track you and..."  
** **"Hey, hey, it's ok.”** He puts one arm on my shoulder.  
**“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd wake up, and the fucking jet lag kept me from sleeping for more than a few hours, so I came down here. I'm really, really sorry Steve. Come on, let's get back to the room, we have to pack up before breakfast anyway.”**

One more flight, to Krabi, and I still don't know if it will be our final stop.  
The Thai Airways plane is a much smaller one than the previous Boeing and Airbus. It has actual propellers, and while we embark from the tarmac, I can see Bucky's face crumple with anxiety. Our seats are next to the emergency exit, which I bet isn't a coincidence since a certain flight anxious ex-assassin booked the tickets. Now that I think about it, we were next or close enough to an emergency exit in our previous flights too...  
I can feel him tense up the moment the plane starts moving slowly to get to the runway. The noise of the engines is near deafening, but I'm sure he can still hear me if I talk close enough.  
Taking his hand in mine, I lean toward him:  
**“Hey, you alright pal?"  
** **"Yes. Just peachy."**  
**"It's gonna be ok. Here, I want you to repeat after me."**  
**"What?"**  
**"It's a mantra against fear I read in a book. You wanna give it a shot?"**  
**"Why not, it can't get any worse”** Which of course isn't true, as we start accelerating for take-off, his hand tightening on mine.  
**“Ok, take a deep breath. Look at me and repeat: I must not fear."  
** **"I... I must not fear."**  
**"Fear is the mind-killer."**  
**"Fear... is the mind-killer."**  
**"Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration[...]"**  
**"Fear is... the little-death that... brings total obliteration[...]"**  
We go through the whole thing twice.  
**"Great! Once more, just repeat what I told you."  
** **"Can you still say it with me?"** How could I resist his puppy-eyes.  
**"Yes, no problem”** I reply, giving him a gentle smile.  
We repeat the mantra until Bucky starts relaxing to some degree. I can see his lips moving as he keeps on repeating it over and over under his breath.  
**“Hey, where did you read it? You said it's in a book right?"  
** **"It's called Dune, takes place in space. You should read it actually, I'm sure you'd love it, but only the first three books** **though. Afterward** **it just became a cash cow, pretty disappointing. I have them at home, you can borrow them when we get back.”**  
**"Yes, I'd love that.**  
Bucky lets go of my hand when the plane has landed, and even the serum wasn't enough for him not to gives me bruises.  
**“Shit, sorry Steve!"  
** **"It's fine, it'll heal in a few hours. Just, tell me: is this the last stop?"**  
**"Nope! And no, I won't tell you where we're going!”**

We make the rest of the trip by bus on route 4036, straight ahead. My knowledge of Thailand's geography is pretty limited, but I soon realize we're going all the way to the coast. We get off the bus and walk to a small pier to board a ferry that takes us to the Koh Jun pier. There, Bucky rents a motorcycle, which he is driving. We take a small road, and another, getting surrounded by more and more wilderness. It reminds me of Wakanda a bit.  
Finally, we arrive at this small resort, tucked away between tropical forest and sandy beach. A slice of heaven for the two of us, like the one we dreamt of when stuck in our tiny Brooklyn apartment, listening to the faraway seagulls and lying on our backs, pretending our floorboard was the seaside.

 **"So... is it... nice?"**  
**"Bucky, it's perfect."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the curious, one of the songs Bucky listened to a lot on the "Neutral" playlist is this one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOq5Gfe9gKg
> 
> Here is the full version of the mantra Steve teaches Bucky:  
> http://dune.wikia.com/wiki/Litany_Against_Fear
> 
> Also, I can neither deny nor confirm that the "Swing Time" reference will spawn an "ex-libris" sort of one-shot.... Ok, WHO AM I KIDDING? Of course it will!  
> EDIT: HERE IT IS! http://archiveofourown.org/works/7494711  
> You can now read about what made Steve blush ;)
> 
> As always, leaving kudos, sharing the love and telling me what you think will be immensely appreciated!
> 
> Love you all!


	3. Saudade (Portuguese: a nostalgic longing for someone or something that is distant or lost)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people!  
> Even though I had initially thought of only publishing the prologue and 1st chapter as a test and leave it at that, I've now decided to keep publishing this fanfiction, so I hope you'll keep reading ;)  
> PLEASE NOTE: if you HAVE READ "So far, yet so close", this is the chapter from which it was extracted. So there will be a big part which will be utterly familiar.  
> If you HAVEN'T, then don't mind me! But do mind the fact that you should read "Night out, ride home" if you truly want to understand all the memory recollection and inuendos in this chapter.  
> Also, you will surely notice Bucky thought process being quite strange and "robot-like". This fanfiction is meant to take place soon after CACW, and so Bucky is trying to manage and recover from being a brainwashed super-assassin with no control over his actions while being around Steve this time (instead of alone in Bucharest). Therefore, even if he tries to appear as Bucky on the outside, his mind is still a big ball of tangled memories and conflicting personalities wrapped in trauma.  
> In italic will be his most "conditioned" and Winter Soldier-like thoughts.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ***************

Rogers and the Asset were at the beach.  
Rogers... no, Steve. Steve and the...  
Shit, another relapse. Breaaaathe.... In and out, in and out. Just like Wilson taught me.

 _Reboot. Start over._ Steve and I were at the beach. Here, that's better.  
We had left the United States, S.H.I.E.L.D, the registration act, all that crap, all behind us. Because Captain America deserved a goddam break. Because the world wasn't totally ready for me yet. And because our time in Wakanda had still been more about hiding and surviving than actually living.  
So, a little while after coming back, with three clicks and five minutes, I had bought two one-way tickets, via Bangkok, to some remote island in the Andaman sea.  
One backpack each, our passports, basic outfits and toiletries, a set of knives, my notebooks, his sketchbooks, my camera. Gone. We left everything else behind, including Steve's shield. It wasn't the first time he did though.  
I had booked the tree house bungalow in a small resort for more privacy. And for another reason: tree house means good vantage point. I didn't say that to Steve. Actually, I hadn't said anything to Steve, our final stop was meant to be a surprise. And a surprise it was.  
We settled down in the small bedroom with its big double bed. Two men renting a bungalow with one bed didn't seem to surprise the staff. A young girl ( _assessment: the owner's daughter._ ) showed us our bathroom on a first floor. Then the bedroom on top. Then the path to the beach. And here we were, the fourth day into our journey.

Steve and I are at the beach.  
We've spend our whole afternoon here. It made Steve unhappy when I said I had forgotten the sound of water and seagulls. Making Steve unhappy wasn't my objective. So I decided to build a sand castle to cheer him up. I remember. He use to draw things, buildings, he liked art. Still does.

 **“C'mon pal! I didn't mean to upset you”**  
Just when I'm about to touch the sand, my left arm makes a familiar little noise. All the plates aligne and shut themselves off tight under the skin-like holographic camouflage. _Sealing protocol in the presence of potentially damaging elements._ Fortunately, Steve has gotten used to it, and my “updated” arm makes nearly no noise compared to the Hydra one. Or it would only make things worse right now.

 **“I know, it's just... you use to love going for a stroll on the boardwalk back in Brooklyn, precisely for that reason: the water, the birds, all that atmosphere... well, I guess this is just as good a scenery to make new memories."**  
**"Exactly, so cheer up! And look, I want to build an amazing castle, but I'm gonna need your help champ. You're the artist here!”**  
I can see his expression change as he takes his sadness to hide it away, putting a small smile on his face instead.  
**“You don't lie as well as you think you do, ya'know!”** he smirks.  
It's true, I didn't “really” need his help. I could have made a reproduction to scale of the Kremlin or the White House all by myself. But Wilson had taught me about something called a “white lie”. I used it with Steve sometimes, when I remembered to. When my brain could take filters. When I was myself, or at least who I was supposed to be.  
And seeing Steve grinning like a kid while playing in the sand deserved straining my goddam brain. It was a priceless sight. That was my objective. But I will have to talk to Wilson about the efficiency of his method when we get back.  
After a few hours spend playing in the sand, our castle ends up looking like a 5 stars palace, complete with a pool and a seashell decor.

 **“I wonder how sandcastle building is a relevant skill for a trained assassin?”** Steve says, joking, before realizing what he just let out.  
**“Sorry! I'm sorry Bucky, I'm such an idiot! I didn't mean...”**  
Rogers is... no, no, Steve. Steve is... cute when he's embarrassed. _Cute? Accurate._  
**“Shit, Steve, don't blow your top! It's ok! And actually a good question. It must be because I hav– had to be able to evaluate a structure on the spot. Any building, anywhere. Different types of entrances, exits, weak spots, where to hide, where to put effective explosives..."**  
**"Oh, yes. Of course.”**

Since I got some memories back, I've gotten better at deciphering mission-irrelevant facial expressions, the Bucky side of me helping. But right now Steve is displaying too many of them combined together. Anger. Also something like... sadness. And... guilt? I don't understand.  
And suddenly Bucky, even though I act like him, is nowhere to help me.  
Steve is not smiling anymore. That's not good.  
**“But hey, pal, look at this beauty!”** I say, waving toward the 5-stars castle.  
Doubt. Relief. But still guilt. And I still don't understand.  
**“It is a beauty! Proof that those skills, when applied for good, can make beautiful things! We should send a picture to Tony”** he says. I actually grab my camera and take a picture, not that Tony will ever see it. This will go directly in my notebook, along the other pictures I've been taking since we started this trip. The only picture we sent out was one of the two of us at the airport before leaving.  
**“I'm sure Iron Face would love to know I'm paving my way to redemption with sand castles and sea shells!”**  
He smiles. And then actually laughs. His big, warm laugh. I know I missed this.  
**“Why... what's so funny?"**  
**"Oh dear! You just... you sounded so much like... well, your old self!"**  
**"Are you calling me old? I'm only 1 year older than you, grandpa!”** I reply before getting up, unceremoniously stomping on the castle to run to the bungalow, shoving him aside and laughing the whole time.  
The passport I used to come here says my name is Aleksandr Dmitrievitch Morozoff. But the more time I spend with Steve, the more Sasha makes room for Bucky. It makes Steve happy. I like that.

He's getting ready now. I’ve already changed quickly in the bathroom, where he couldn’t see me. He had enough of a freak out when he learned I had an implanted port, I don’t want him seeing all the scars around it. I’ve sat on the bedroom’s balcony with a Lucky and an ashtray, waiting for him.  I’m watching the sunset. I had forgotten that too, how simple yet beautiful it can be. After I had told Rog– Steve I remembered his mother’s name and newspaper-filled shoes, we didn't catch a break until we went into hiding thanks to T'Challa. Then I decided to be put on ice again. When I had to be woken up, Steve and Wilson had tried to help me jog my memory back, but the time we had together was limited, both by the fact that Steve had to “take care” of all the others, and also that I wasn’t always “myself”. Very few things were resurfacing, other than visions of my victims. They are the only things I remember clearly. Every one of them.

Sometimes, though, a sight, a scent–  
_Reassessment:_ most of the time, his sight or his scent, or even a song would wake something in me. A creature buried deep, though always trying to claw its way back since the moment I saw him put his hand on mine as I went under. Something that just wants to see Steve Rogers smile again, happy, like in the few nice dreams I have from time to time. Or are they memories? 

I put out my cigarette and go back into the room, just in time to get a glimpse of Steve’s bare chest before he puts his t-shirt on and smiles at me. The creature is stirring up.

 We take the motorbike and drive to the closest small town to find a restaurant. Steve feels like eating local, and we don’t want to attract attention by going in a joint full of foreigners where we could easily be identified. So we keep going, parallel to the beach, until we find a small place a bit off the center. The Leelawadee. _No cover around. Small building, one upper floor with two windows, assessment: owner’s living quarters. One entrance, maybe–_  
**“Bucky? Hey, Bucky?"**  
**"Yes? "**  
**"You… you kinda froze.”**   _Error._  
  **“Structure assessment incomplete."**  
**"Hey, look at me.”** he orders, and I do. **“StephenGrantRogers,a.k.aCaptainAmerica,bornJuly4th1918,PlaceOfBirthNewYork,ParentsNam–"**  
**"Stop. Bucky, stop.”**   _Err–_ what? Suddenly I realize Rogers’ face is blocking my vantage point. He looks…worried? _Accurate._ His… eyes. Rog– Steve’s eyes, blue. Worried. Friendly. His hands on my arms. I shake my head as if it would make all this crap go away.   
**“S-sorry. Sorry champ, it’s those. Old reflexes.”**  
**"It’s ok pal, don’t worry. Let’s get in, alright?”** he says, gently putting one arm around my shoulders. The gesture seems familiar, but I think I use to be the one doing that with him.

  
 The Leelawadee is a strange blend of traditional Thai elements mixed with fake retro western decor. The objective might have been to attract foreigners. Objective not reached, we are the only foreigners here. The host welcomes us, overly enthusiastic, asking if we’re Americans. Steve says he’s Irish, which is sort of true. He has trouble with lying to innocent civilians. I'd rather stay silent.  We are sat and given menus in which the dishes name are written both in English (with atrocious misspellings) and Thai.   
**“Steve. I-I can read Thai… I think I’ve been here before, in Thailand I mean…”** He **looks up from his menu.**  
**“And you couldn’t have said so before?”** he says with a little sarcastic laugh. I know he’s trying to downplay this. Keep me from freaking out.   
**“Well...”**  
**"Nevermind. So… do you remember anything from here?"**  
**"No, not really. I remember how to speak Thai, but I’d rather not know why I came…”**  
**"Hey, it’s fine. At least you can say you’ve traveled! I wish I had gone that far away. And look at the bright side: you can help me pick, cause I have no idea what to order!”**  
It’s a white lie. I know from Wilson that Steve loves Thai takeaway. But he looks happy to put me in charge.

 **“Ok, leave it to the pro.”**  
He gives me an amused look and I hail the waitress.  
**“Khaaw khao phat moo, song khrap. Khaaw neung mai phet khrap. What do you want to drink?”** I ask Steve. The little punk is staring at me like I was a total stranger. Which I guess is true in a way.   
**“Earth to Steve. What do yo– "**  
**"Huh, sorry, yeah, drink… hum, beer I guess. "**  
**"Khaaw Singha neung, nam maphrao, neung khrap.”**  
The waitress leaves and Steve is speechless. But Bucky is back:  
  **“Didn’t your mama teach you it’s not polite to stare? "**  
**"She did, taught it to the both of us actually! But… well, you were just speaking fluent Thai, when all I remember you speaking apart from English is a crappy Gaelic and a bit of Yiddish."**  
**"Hey, my Gaelic was not crappy! "**  
**"oh yes, yes it was! But don’t worry, I’ve nearly forgotten what little I knew, so we’re even!”**  
 The waitress is back with our drinks.   
**“No beer? "**  
**"I… I can’t really drink fizzy drinks anymore.”** Please don’t ask me why.  
  **“Can I ask you why or…?”** Ugh. Sasha wouldn’t mind telling him, wouldn’t even see a reason not to. But Bucky knows it will make him unhappy. I can't tell him.  
  **“You… you don’t want to know buddy. Let’s just... Cheers, ok?”**  
I can see worry turn up on his face for a second or two, then being concealed again. He raises his glass, looking me straight in the eyes:  
**“Til the** end **of the line pal”** he says, and I feel myself smiling, the kind of smile Bucky has. The kind my face hasn’t used in decades. 

We eat, talk about different things, people. A few memories too. The food is delicious. How could I not remember that?? Well, maybe for the same reason I can’t drink fizzy drinks: Because I was fed through tubes and IV for decades. And when you’ve got plastic pipes shoving mush straight to your stomach, it’s never gourmet cuisine.  Steve orders a second serving, which doesn’t surprise me. I mean, look at this body.   
**“Didn’t my mama teach you not to stare Buck?”** Steve says, all raised eyebrow and crooked smile.  Shit, was I that obvious? Bucky is definitely back tonight.   
**“Just… finish your plate okay? I’ve gotta use the john, be right back!”**

On my way back from the bathroom, one element of the retro décor I hadn’t noticed before catches my eye: a jukebox.  I approach it and… it has so many songs… there’s a smell of whiskey and cigarette in the air… I think I–  
**“Bucky? Pal, you good?”** I must have been standing there for a bit, because Steve has walked over and seems concerned.  
**“I–I think I remember…something. The music… Steve, there was music and I was drinking whiskey… "**  
**"That’s good, what else? "**  
**"We went dancing and… there was… a gal, Lacey? "**  
**"That’s…wow, Bucky! I remember that night too! "**  
**"You do? "**  
**"Yes, it was… pretty hard to forget. "**  
**"Why?”** He looks… embarrassed.  
**“Hum… well, first, it wasn’t Lacey but Leslie and, well, you kinda had an argum–“**  
**"Yes, yes! An argument, because she called you a half portion! And nobody calls you names but me… "**  
**"That’s it! You remember, that’s great!”**  
Steve looks as happy and excited as an ankle-biter on Christmas morning, but the extra sparkle in his eyes tells me there’s something else he recalls that I don’t…  
 We both go through the song list on the jukebox and Steve tells me about small memories he has of us that are tied to them. It’s out of order so we can’t play any, but just reading the labels and listening to Steve talk about us rings tiny bells in the back of my mind: Duke Ellington, Fred Astaire, Andrews Sisters… He stops there. The world, which had faded away for a few minutes, comes back into focus.   
**“Hum… anyway… Hey Buck, you want something else to eat? Dessert? "**  
**"No… no I’m ok.”**  Andrews Sisters ~ Beir Mir Bist Du Schön. No, it’s not the right title…  
  **“You sure? "**  
**"Yes…”**  Bei mir… bei mir… bei mir bistu…shein… Yes! It all comes back to me in a flash.  
  **“Ok then, I’ll get the bill and– "**  
**"And I’ll get a muffin home.”** Steve stops dead in his tracks, his back to me.  
It’s a good thing he wasn’t carrying anything, cause it’s the kind of reaction that makes you drop what you hold, be it a phone or a platter full of glass. I think he could even have dropped his shield!   
I walk past him and, before exiting the restaurant, turn around to look at his face, frozen in a mix of surprise, shock and… delight?  
  **“You get real cute when you’re surprised, you know that?”**  
He’s thunderstruck, and I don’t blame him. 

I go wait by the motorbike, light up a Lucky and think about that night. About everything I can remember. I recall how furious I was with that Leslie girl. How dared she insult Steve? It was one thing for me to call him a punk and make fun of how frail he looked, but she… she had had this tone about it, as if she was way too good for him, like she was out of his league. How I defended him so fiercely. How she told me that if I liked Steve so much, maybe I should go dance with him… How I slammed my glass on the table to give myself some bearing, but actually didn’t have any witty comeback for it… I “failed” to mention this part to Steve at the time.   
She left, but it had still been a good night. We drank. We had fun. Went home on our small bicycle… Now I understand that extra sparkle in Steve’s eyes, and I suddenly long for that lost feeling of being so close to him. 

I see him coming out, still a mix of bewilderment and discreet glee. That feeling, that creature in the pit of my stomach is back.  
  **“Hey punk. "**  
**"Hey jerk.”**   He keeps his eyes down, patting himself all over  
  **“Left back pocket. "**  
**"What? "**  
**"Left back pocket. The bike’s keys, they’re in your left back pocket."**  
**"Oh… yeah, thanks. Sooo… you remember that night? "**  
**"Yes, I do. It all came back: Leslie, the dance, you at the bar, the argument…”**  
**"I did feel a bit sorry you had– "**  
**"Didn’t have to. She was a looker, but she wasn’t worth my time. You were.”**  
**"I… we… we got quite tipsy! "**  
**"That we were! And then the ride home…”  If it wasn’t so dark, I could swear he’s slightly blushing**  
**“Well, I can’t even get drunk anymore now, with the serum. "**  
**"Which means you can drive us back this time! "**  
**"Oh, is that how it works? "**  
**"It is! Now stop bumping your gums kitten, and take us back! "**  
**"Stop calling me that!”** he replies, trying to sound offended and failing miserably.

He starts the motorbike, I put out my cigarette under my shoe and get on behind him.  We ride back to the hotel at a lazy pace. Steve’s definitely not crossing any speed limit, and I gotta admit I’m enjoying it.   
Unlike that night nearly 80 years ago, we’re not zigzagging or nearly losing balance. But in the cool night, the darkness surrounding us pierced only by far-apart lampposts, I feel like holding him. Just like he held me. Because having so much coming back in one night feels surreal. Because this all feels like a dream. A blissful dream that I could wake up from only to be back in the Cryopod.  
To be stripped and scrubbed and force-fed. To be put in the Chair, shoved back in a recess of my own brain, The Winter Soldier taking over once more.  
So I put my arms around his firm waist and wait. He doesn’t tense up. I don’t wake up. I decide to press myself against his muscly back a bit more. 

He’s changed a lot from the asthmatic, scrawny but hotheaded guy I knew then, though he can most definitely say the same about me. We've both been transformed, yet remained the same somehow. Bucky is still here somewhere, and, resting my head between Steve’s shoulder-blades, I still hear the Brooklyn kid’s heart. Slower. Steadier. But still the same thumping. I close my eyes and listen to its soothing rhythm.   
I realize the world around us has changed too. Leslie was right that night, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t see it. I was James Buchanan Barnes. Son of an army officer. Sweet-talker. Womanizer extraordinaire. And it wouldn’t be said I was a fairy. But if Leslie and I had this argument nowadays… would I react differently? Maybe. Yes, actually. Considering what I retain from my “escapade” in the 70’s, the kind of joint and neighborhood I frequented, the kind of “activity” I had… I’d be a hell of a hypocrite if I denied it. 

My head starts hurting. Memory recollection too important.  No, I don’t wanna go back! I don’t wanna revert to… whatever it is I am. I feel my muscles stiffen as I fight it. I wanna be Bucky. I wanna stay here.  
I tighten my grip on Steve. For a few seconds I feel one of his hands coming to rest on mine, squeezing my flesh fingers gently, before returning to the handlebar.   
Then he starts humming, and resonating in his ribcage I hear the tune to that old Yiddish song. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but I do. 

 

 

>   
>  Bei mir bistu shein… To me you are lovely…   
>  Bai mir hostu chein… To me you are charming…   
>  Bist eine bei mir oif der velt… To me you are the only one in the world…

 It’s the farthest I can remember being from Brooklyn.  
But here, holding onto reality, to Steve’s sturdy body, his scent of fresh soap and after shave around me, I feel like I’ve finally come home.   
The creature in my belly is purring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the ride and, to compensate for the fact that part of this chapter had already been published as a one-shot, be ready for another chapter coming out later today!  
> Also, the thaï language Bucky uses is what's left of me living in Thailand. He orders fried-rice with pork for the both of them, though his without chilli. And for the drinks, a Singha beer for Steve, and for him young coconut water.
> 
> As always, show your love, spread the love and leave your thoughts in the comments section!  
> Love you all <3


	4. Cafune (Brazilian portuguese: tenderly running your fingers through your lover's hair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter! You might also have noticed by now, every chapter is (and will be) named with a foreign word that translates feelings the English language doesn't have a word for, as I think Bucky and Steve's relationship needs those words to express itself. And because I love foreign languages! ^^  
> Also, for the previous chapter, this one and also the next, I won't be posting a link to the map, as they all take place at the same place.  
> Enjoy!  
> *************

He remembers. I can't believe he remembers that night. It had always been seared in my mind, always there as a source of comfort when I was exhausted, morally and/or physically. The memory of his warmth and scent...  
I never told anyone but, when Bucky got shipped out and I had to pack for Camp Lehigh, I “borrowed” his shirt. This one shirt, the one he was wearing on that night. I took it to camp with me, of course leaving it in my trunk, not as if it was my size anyway, but it was like having him with me. The only time I dared taking it out was the night before everything changed. After that drink I never actually had, when Dr Erskine left the tent and I was all alone, starting to panic a bit, I took it out and put it on. It was way too big, my hands getting lost in the sleeves, the fabric floating around my body... but I fell asleep wearing it. The next time I slept with it, it was too small for me but I held it so close, dreaming I could have hold on that tightly to its owner I then thought dead because of me.  
When I was brought out of the ice, over half a century later, it was one of the first thing I looked for in what was left of my meagre possessions. But it was gone. So a few days later, feeling too drained to function, I went to buy a shirt. A grey one, because when Bucky wore grey, it made the blue of his eyes even deeper. I put it in a box where I kept his dog-tags and added mothballs, giving it the same light smell of naphthalene we had in our closet.  And I came up with a kind of ritual, something I never told a soul about, but that I would repeat several times over the years:  
I would spray it with Florida Water, the after-shave Bucky used when he was getting all ritzy. Then I'd wear it and his dog tags, play my vinyl of “Bei Mir Bistu Shein” on my old record player, pour myself a whiskey and light up a Lucky. It was the only time I'd smoke. I would sit down on my couch, with not one light on, watching the end of the day slip away. When it got dark, I would take off the shirt, go to bed and hold it against me, still warm, smelling the closest it could to Bucky. The closest to how he had smelled that night, when I was holding him.  
And now he's holding on to me. Unlike that night, we're not drunk, the motorbike isn't zigzagging, we're not losing balance. He's doing it because he wants to. And just like he did on that night, I let out a little laugh, because for the first time in a very long time, I feel like we've finally found each other.

We get to the resort and he lets go of me the moment I stop the bike. I can still feel his arms around me, his hands on my belly, but it's fading too fast, leaving me with a strange feeling of emptiness. We go up to the room in silence and once on the bed I realize I'm beat: I guess no desert and too many emotions can do that. I see him preparing the three-fold cushion he insists on sleeping on since we arrived, take stuff from his backpack then go for the stairs down to the bathroom.  
**“So...good night Steve”**  
**“Good night Buck”** I say and practically pass out the minute my head touches the pillow.

I wake up in a slight panic. Look towards the floor: Bucky's gone.  
Glance to the balcony: nothing. I tumble out of bed and go down to the bathroom, nothing either. I awoke with that hollow feeling in my chest and, even if I checked because I simply had to, I know it's useless: he's not here. I put on the first pair of shorts I can get my hands on, take my phone from the nightstand, and go down the stairs onto the beach. I open the app Tony installed on it, which shows me Bucky's position thanks to the tracker in his arm. He actually isn't too far from here, and I feel myself relax a little. I start running to where the dot is, and soon enough locate a shape sitting in a ball facing the water, under the moonlight.  
When I get there he looks up at me, taking out his earphones. I'm hesitant, not knowing for certain who I'm facing:  
**“Sasha?”**  
**“No, it's me pal.”**  
**“Bucky”** I say in a sigh of relief.  
**“What happened? Are you okay??”**  
**“Yeah, just... couldn't sleep. I think I remembered too much from “that night”, tried to hold on to it too hard. It messed with my head. I got restless, just had to get out. Sorry if I woke you up.”**  
**“You didn't, I woke up startled and didn't see you there. Just had to find you, make sure you're ok, you got me worried for a bit, jerk.”**  
**“Sorry you didn't get your beauty-sleep princess!”** It definitely is Bucky talking to me  
**“Whatever, there are no cameras here to see the dark circles under my eyes!”** I say which makes him chuckle.  
**“Mind if I seat with you?”**  
He simply looks up to me and pats the spot next to him.  
I sit down in the damp sand, close to him, and look ahead. The moon is half full and reflecting on the barely wrinkled surface of the ocean. It's such a beautiful, peaceful sight.  
**“What were you listening to?”**  
**“What?”**  
**“Before, when I arrived, you had your earphones in.”**  
**“Oh, that? Actually, I hadn't decided yet.”** he says, shrugging.

  
Some more silence, only interrupted by the sounds of small waves coming and going. Unlike with everybody else, silence doesn't get awkward with Buck. We can enjoy long talks, or just stay together without saying a word. When I was sick and he was off, we used to spend the day together, just sitting down next to each other on the tiny bed. Sometimes he would read to me, or some time to himself, and I would just lie there, enjoying his company, getting lost in my tired, sleepy thoughts. Now that I think about it, I remember his warmth next to me, our arms touching a bit, and my thoughts going towards what I believed were sinful desires. Because yes, I considered simply wanting to hug him or cuddle against him to be sinful at the time. But how I longed for it now and then, as if my chest was constricting, being vacuumed, only his touch being able to fill the void again. And a few times, as if a miracle occurred or he could read my mind, he would distractingly put one of his arms around my shoulders, looking at me and smiling, maybe asking me if I was ok, before going back to his reading.  
Fortunately, now I know better than to think I might go to hell for holding him against me.

  
As I look towards the horizon, thinking back to those days, I feel a weight on my shoulder: he's decided to rest his head against me, and... how could I say no? He seems so tired, worn out, like a puppet put through despicably cruel games.  
He gets his pack of Lucky and a lighter from one of his pockets, sticks a cigarette between his lips and tries to light it. Unfortunately, the breeze coming from the sea seems not to agree with it. I decide to help, putting my hand around his metal one, sheltering the flame until his cigarette catches on and he rests his head back on my shoulder.  
**“You're so warm, I bet I could have lit it on your skin.”** he says jokingly  
**“One of the side-effect of being a super soldier! The serum got me running at a higher-than-average temperature, but I'm not a human torch yet!”**  
**“No, just my personal hot-water bottle”** I chortle at the metaphor and put my arm around him, moving him a bit closer. We stay like this for a while, quiet, and I think maybe he is, like me, trying to figure out why none of this feels weird or awkward... until I remember that he can't have come out here for nothing.  
**“You wanna talk about it?”**  
**“What?”**  
**“Why you couldn't sleep.”**  
**“I... I don't know.”** He exhales and the cigarette smoke dances in the dim moonlight for a second before flying off.  
**“It was... it felt like too much. Like my brain couldn't process it. Once you were sleeping I decided to write it down in one of my notebooks, see if it helped, but it didn't. I lay down, and it was like my brain was buzzing, like I had a swarm of bees in my head.”**  
**“Maybe that memory triggered others that were trying to crawl up to the surface?”**  
**“Maybe, yes... it felt like it was too big to fit through though, you see?”**  
**“You mean as if... it was some kind of major memory that your brain wasn't ready for?”**  
**“Yes, exactly. It annoys the crap out of me Steve, because I want to remember. I really do. But it's so exhausting.”**  
**“It's ok Bucky. You don't have to force it. Just rest for now.”**

  
He finishes his cigarette, putting it off in the sand before sliding the bud in the pack, and I hear him, or more like “feel” him, yawn. I don't think the Winter Soldier was supposed to display such thing as tiredness, and if he did, he had to stay as stealthy as possible. Which meant no noise, something Bucky is still applying even now. Barely thinking of the kind of conditioning it took to ingrain that in him so deeply  already makes all that rage resurface in me, the blind kind of rage that nearly cost Tony his life. So I take his earphones and plug them into my mobile. Putting one earbud in my left ear, I silently offering the other one to Bucky who seats up to put it in his right one before I press play.  
The music is low, calm, the voice soothing. It's part of the “Neutral” playlist we made. There are no memories attached to it, not yet, so it doesn't trigger anything, but instead help him relax. I do wish this one to be part of a new memory though, the lyrics making more and more sense as this trip goes on...  
_“nothing's gonna hurt you baby,_  
_as long as you're with me you'll be just fine”_  
He closes his eyes and rest his head on my shoulder once more.  
_“nothing's gonna hurt you baby,_  
_nothing's gonna take you from my side”_

Fate or people took him from my side way too many times. But not anymore. I've had enough. From the moment he looked at me with his metal arm stuck, defenseless, this resolve settled deep in my bones: I will not let anything or anyone take him away from me anymore, unless it's over my dead body. I've lived with too much pain and grief when it happened in the past, I won't be able to go through it once more. I cannot lose him again.  
At this moment, all I want is to take care of him, as he took care of me so many times in the past. As I told Sam, even when I had nothing, I had Bucky. Now it will be the other way around: I took him out of the fire before, and I'll do it again. Creatures might come charging through a giant hole in the sky again, I'd let them. I'd let the world crash and burn if it means I'll be there for him, keeping him safe by my side, holding him close while the world falls to pieces. Come what may, he will have me.  
My left arm around his shoulders, I unconsciously start gently playing with his hair, as if it was an old reflex, a parapraxis echoing from all those lost opportunities. I feel him tense for a second at first, then relax more and more as I am running my fingers through his strands, very slowly, pulling them back from his face.

  
A few moments later, I notice his breathing has slowed down as he actually fell asleep leaning against me.  
After cautiously taking the earphones out of our respective ears and putting them away, I slowly contort myself to kneel by his side while keeping him balanced. I then lift him up and start carrying him back to the bungalow, cradling him in my arms. Negotiating the small staircase without bumping him against anything isn't the easiest thing but I manage to finally get to the room.  
Bucky has been sleeping on the floor for the last four nights, on one of those triangle three-fold cushion, but not this time, because there is just no way I carried him all the way up here to let him sleep like a dog. I cautiously lower him on the bed, where he automatically rolls over on his side. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, and even with the long messy hair and the five o'clock shadow on his face, in that moment he's James Buchanan Barnes. He's my Bucky, the one I use to know. I take off his flip-flops before going for the three-fold cushion myself. That's when I hear him sort of grunt from the bed, still facing the other way, but extending his right arm toward me.  
I go sit down next to him, whispering:  
**“What is it Buck? Do you need something?”**  
**“Stay.”** he simply answers in a sleepy voice. I'm taken aback at first, but could never resist a groggy, from sleep or otherwise, Bucky. I lie down next him, on my back, staring right up and focusing on the ceiling fan. That's when he rolls over on his other side and puts his metal arm across my bare torso, like a cat holding onto its toy, his eyes still closed but with a slight smile on his face, and I can't help but smile a little too.  
**“Doth'hairthingagain”** he mumbles. I feel the corner of my lips rise even more as I slide my left arm under his neck, my biceps now serving as his pillow. I start patting him so very gently as I, too, fall asleep, the warmth of his body curled up against mine feeling like another miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the song Steve plays for Bucky and himself: "Nothing's gonna hurt you baby" by Cigarettes after sex  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2LQdh42neg
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, don't forget to show some love, go share it with the world and tell me why you liked it. And if you didn't like it, you can also tell me why!
> 
> Love you all <3


	5. Mångata (Swedish: reflection of the moon on water)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Stucky Sunday people, so here you go, another chapter! This one is actually Bucky's side of chapter 4.
> 
> *********WARNING:*********  
> Prostitution and not "totally" consensual sex (even though he knows what he's doing, seeing the level of his mental health, to me it feels his "consent" wasn't really one) is referred to a little bit. I also very quickly brush on the subject of how Bucky was treated by Hydra as the Winter Soldier, which can be a bit disturbing for the most sensitive.*********  
> Obviously, no new map layer needed for now
> 
> Other than that, I hope you'll enjoy!

I can't. It's too much. That whole memory has too many feelings to fit in my brain. Or maybe not too many, but too big. As if they're filling up all the space and try to make their way out.        It's like my brain is a hornets nest, and I've just kicked it. My thought are making angry sounds, buzzing all around, mad at having been disturbed.  
Steve is already sound asleep, lucky bastard. But I can't. I can't sleep. I get up from my makeshift bed, which is in fact a traditional three fold cushion. I've been sleeping on it since we arrived. Steve was pissed off at first, as he always is when he feels I'm mistreated in any way. But I insisted. And anyway, even with a double bed, I know him, he was gonna take up all the space and end up pushing me off. So I might as well sleep on the floor already. Can't go lower.

  
I grab my camera, filter the flash and get the perfect shot: Rogers spread across the bed, his face and body dimly lit by the moon coming through the window. I was right: he changed a lot, but some things never change. Steve still looks like some kind of angel when he's sleeping.  
I let the picture develop and get my latest notebook. I've been taking more and more pictures to put them in here, along my writing. To help me remember. To help me believe this is all real, that it's all truly happening, so that my relapse don't feel as scary as before. Just like holding on to Steve on the motorbike, which felt like holding on to reality. To sanity even.  
But now I am left alone with my thoughts and it just fucking hurts. I put the picture on a page and start writing on the opposite one, letting everything out, hoping it will purge my mind, calm the raging swarm of bees my brain seems to be made of. I write about “that night”. About everything I can remember, all the details, the music, the atmosphere, Leslie. That argument...  
She was a looker, but way too prejudiced for my taste. I will have to tell Steve one day. About the argument. About what I thought that night... what I thought tonight...  
But all this reminds me of something else, and the angry buzzing is starting to fill up my head once more...

  
The moon shining, reflected on the Central Park lake. New York. I was there at one point. I escaped my handlers. But why remember this?  
_Inaccessible memory._  
No. Digging. More. Deeper. A tree.  
The Asset's face against it. Bark in the the Asset's mouth.  
_Standard uniform down._ Another man in Central Park. A man behind the Asset.  
**“What's your name sweetheart?”** The Asset use to have a name. **“Sasha”**. Pounding. Hard. A moan? A weapon doesn't moan. The other man does. Takes it out. Gives the Asset money. Leaves. The Asset knows he can't go on the street like this. _Standard uniform up._ The moon is still shining above.  
It... it went on for a while. The Weap– Sasha. I used to be Sasha. I started “enjoying” it, or more like “working with it”. Sasha started choosing the “clients”, going in all the right joints. Smoking joints too. Goddammit, this is too much! But Sasha remembers, I know he remembers everything. Do I want to though?

At first I didn't know what I was doing, simply using the primal human needs of others, letting them “do their thing” while I silently waited for it to be over. It's what I was trained to do. _Wake up, handler, the Chair, mission, handler, scrub. The Chair, tubes, IV, the Cryopod. Repeat._ Don't talk _._ Be a good asset. Good doggy. We will operate now. _Needle. Scalpel. Don't move._ Hydra is so grateful. You're a good weapon.  
Shit, I can't take it anymore, it's too fucking much!! Steve's presence forces me to try and control myself, as I don't want to wake him up with my bullshit. I go down to the bathroom, let the water run long enough so that it will actually be cold. Then splash my face. Again. The back of my neck. As if it was gonna help. But it doesn't, and I still want to scream and claw at my face and tear my head off.

  
Back in the room, I get my pack of Lucky, my phone with earphones and go back down, towards the beach this time.  
I walk. _Just walk, keep walking._ The moon is half full tonight, and she's following me. Why is she following me??  
**“YOU CAN'T HELP ME!! CAN'T YOU SEE I WANNA BE ALONE??”** I shout, letting some of the steam out.  
Apparently she doesn't. After a while spent walking around on the same spot, surely talking to myself again, I simply sit in the sand and look at her. At her reflection on the ocean. I wonder if Steve was looking at the moon too, when we were apart. When I was away. After all, we'd have been looking at the same one.  
I take my phone out, plug in my earphones and put them in, one right, one left. Music has been helping a lot, specially since Steve and I concocted this “Neutral playlist” thing. Only modern (as in not before the 70's), and mainly calm one. I've discovered a lot of artists on the Internet, and so had Steve. He was so proud of himself when he showed me how to download a song, I let him believe he was actually teaching me. Even though computer and modern technologies was a part of my training as the century advanced and he was sleeping it off.

I'm trying to pick a song when I hear footsteps. Rapid ones. It's Steve, with a blatantly worried expression on his face. I take my earphones out, he seems hesitant at first.  
**“Sasha?"**  
**"No, it's me pal."**  
**"Bucky”** He's relieved, which I understand. He asks me what happened, of which I give a summary. We joke a bit, his sass as present as ever, and he asks if he can seat. I pat the sand next to me, and he does.  
He asks what I was listening to, but I realize I didn't have time to listen to anything.  
Some silence. I like silence in general, but specially with Steve. Because it never gets awkward, but also because it means I can't hurt him. Sasha can't hurt him. Silence is the ultimate filter for my brain, the one that will keep all the torment, all the unintended hurt inside.  
But I'm tired now. I'm so tired. How much can I take before I relapse? Before I lash out? It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. So I simply rest my head against Steve's shoulder. Just like when I was holding on to him on the motorcycle. Because it feels like he's my anchor, like he's keeping me here as long as I'm close to him. He's so warm, it makes me feel alive again.  
I get a Lucky out and try to light it, but of course the goddamn ocean breeze won't let me. That's when he gets his hand close to mine to protect the flame. I should have asked Stark to have some kind of mini torch option on this arm.  
**“You're so warm, I bet I could have lit it on your skin.”** I joke and he chuckles, which sounds like the happiest thing in my life right now.  
**“One of the side-effect of being a super soldier! The serum got me to run at a higher-than-average temperature, but I'm not a human torch yet!"**  
**"No, just my personal hot-water bottle”** He laughs again and, to my surprise, puts one arm around me. Pulling me closer. More warmth. This feels strange, but still right somehow...

  
**“You wanna talk about it?”**  he asks.  
**“What?"**  
**"Why you couldn't sleep.”** I give him the short version, and he tries to help, he really does. He even understands to some extent. But I haven't told him everything, and until I do, he won't be able to help, not entirely. I still tell him I really want to remember, because I do. But I'd like to have only the good stuff, and even just that would already be draining my energy.  
**“It's ok Bucky. You don't have to force it. Just rest for now.”**  he says softly, so I do. I even yawn, silently though. I used to never show any signs of fatigue, as being tired meant being inefficient. And the Winter Soldier couldn't afford it. But even now that more “human” reflexes are back, they are still conditioned by fucking Hydra. Steve doesn't know it, but I even cry silently. Not the slightest noise. Creepy as hell.  
He decides to play some music, offering me the right earbud that I take.  
It's one of “Cigarettes after Sex” song... I have to be honest, I first listened to them because of the band's name. Ended up liking some of it.

 

>   
>  “nothing's gonna hurt you baby,  
>  as long as you're with me you'll be just fine”

  
I close my eyes, listening to the smooth voice, and rest my head against Steve again. Closer to him.

 

>   
>  “nothing's gonna hurt you baby,  
>  nothing's gonna take you from my side”

  
He puts his arm around my shoulders once more, and the lyrics resonate in me. Even drained, even with fucked up memories and a brain that's about to explode, I feel... ok right now. I feel safe by his side, as if he was the one telling me that.  
I drift away.  
I feel like I'm floating, vaguely moving maybe.  
Going up...  
_Surrounding assessment._ I'm in Steve's arms. He's carrying me to the room. Did I? I think I fell asleep.  
He puts me down as gently as he can and I roll on my side. Barely opening my eyes, I see the moon... I'm higher than usual... He's put me on the bed instead of my cushion.  
I extend my arm backwards and groan, cause it's the only thing I'm capable of “saying” right now.  
**“What is it Buck? Do you need something?”** Steve asks. One word. I have to get it out.  
**“Stay.”**  
I feel his weight on the mattress behind me. Once he's not moving anymore, I simply turn around and let my metal arm rest across him, as if he was my property. But also to make sure he's not leaving. I feel a sleepy, lazy smile stretching my lips.  
I ask him to pat my hair again, or at least I think that's what I say. I feel his hand. Then his whole arm. going underneath my head. I'm sleeping on Captain America's biceps.  
He starts gently playing with my hair. I must have said the right thing then.  
My head feels alright again, I think Steve made the buzzing go away.

_But if I could purr, I would_ is my last conscious thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are still wondering what the hell a three-fold cushion is, here you go:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ef/fc/1a/effc1a5449f870fba010d68b2925e0f8.jpg
> 
> That's all folks, so as always, don't forget to leave kudos, spread the love and tell me what you think in the comment section! <3


	6. Eleutheromania (Greek: intense and irresistible desire for freedom.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand iiiit's STUCKY SUNDAY! Which means, a new chapter for you my dears!
> 
> One that contains a fair amount of travelling (finally some might say), and a new amazing place to stay for the boys!! So here is the updated map, with pictures included so you can visualise better: (repeated places have photos in the first layer they appeared on)  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=1o2yPbAKURhBjgGtyPeUW9Y5hIYM&usp=sharing
> 
> Also, as the chapter is divided between Bucky and Steve, I reverted to Steve's part being in italic.  
> And without further ado, the new chapter.  
> Enjoy!  
> **************

Our last three days on Koh Jum pass way too fast for my taste. But at least they do so without any "incident", or nothing too bad at least. Bucky has been sleeping a bit better, though he still randomly woke up in the middle of the last two nights. Yet now, instead of directly running away, he gets up from his floor mat and crawls into bed like a cat looking for warmth. But unlike "that" night, he doesn't cuddle up to me, which I think is still too foreign a concept to him.  
After all, he's been treated like a weapon, something less than human and not deserving of any love, for the last 70 years or so.  
Sometimes, if he still can't go back to sleep, he sits on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, while I wait for him, half asleep but still worrying. Then he comes back.  
We've also decided to go for a run every morning. It helps clear up his head and mine, as all those things happening with Bucky, all those feelings are... confusing to say the least. And it goes from confusing to kind of scary when Sasha shows up and the Bucky I know is gone.  
I've already been running in the morning, yet here it gives me this deep feeling of... freedom I'd say. Not the kind you give to the people, nor the one you fight for. This is a new kind. It's like a rush, as if I could start flying if only I accelerated just a tiny bit more. I feel elated, light. Free. This feeling, the sea breeze, Bucky by my side, especially when he's smiling... I never want it to stop. But we're leaving tomorrow, and I have no idea where Bucky is taking me next. All I know is that I'm gonna miss this place.  
We've gone back to the Leelawadee several times over the last few days, but tonight is goodbye as we leave early in the morning. Bucky and I are now treated as regulars, meaning they actually serve us our favorites before we order!  
He has become addicted Khao Tom Moo, this kind of rice porridge with pork, saying it's tasty and goes down really easily.  
**“One day you will have to tell me why Bucky.”**  
**“Why what?”**  
**“Why this goes down easily. Why you won't eat spicy or drink fizzy drinks.”**  
**“Listen champ, you... you don't want to know”**  
**“But I do!”**  
**“Believe me, you don't. But, if you still want to know in a while, I'll tell you. Just... not now. Let me savor my last khao tom in peace, and eat your larb moo!"**  
**"Right..."**  
**"Don't look so down Steve, please. I promise I'll tell you. Now let's talk about tomorrow, alright?”**  
His eyes light up and all the doom and gloom are suddenly replaced with excitment, which ends up being contagious.

 

 _ **“Give me one clue! Pleaaase!”**_  
_**“Nope!”**_  
_**“Buckyyy, come oooon!”** I'm close to whining but not there yet, just like I did when we were kids, something that always gets to Bucky_  
_**“Alright! But just one:........ we're going back to Krabi to continue to our next destination.”**_  
_**“Pfff, is that it? That's a crappy clue.”** I might be sulking a bit cause he starts laughing at me._  
_**“I didn't say I was gonna give a first class hint either. But!”**_  
_**“yes??”** I'm all excited again... what kind of emotional roller-coaster has he put me in?_  
_**“I can give you this.”**_  
_He gets a bag out from his backpack. I did find it weird for him to take it, but again, he's not the most normal guy around._  
_**“Here you go. I think you'll use it quite a lot where we're going.”**_

 _I put my hand in the bag and take out a box of..._  
_**“Watercolor pencils?? And brushes! oh my... you shouldn't have!”**_  
_I hear the very distinctive noise of his Polaroid camera._  
_**“I promised Sam a picture of your face when you opened it, he helped me choose.”**_  
_**“So Sam was involved... I'm gonna have a word with him...”** _  
_**“Oh just shut up and accept your present punk!”** _  
_**“No but, I do, truly. Thank you Bucky.”** I reply, grinning and, by some unknown reflex, take the hand he has resting on the table in one of mine._

 

Steve seems happy with his present, which makes me happy. Also, it had the advantage of distracting him from his first question. I don't want to tell him. I cannot, not now. I still remember the state his apartment was in after he'd learn Hydra had fit me with a implanted port, and that was after Sam and Natka had helped clean up. Several holes in a wall, missing furniture, even a broken door. If I tell him I was fed through this very IP, while having mush forced into my stomach through a pipe shoved down my throat to “speed up the process”... I don't want to see how he would react. Filters have to be applied. Like Sam Wilson said: white lies.  
He takes my hand in his, and for some reason it only strengthen my resolve: I cannot tell him more about my days with Hydra. Or that smile would disappear. And it's the very last thing I want happening.  
**“No but, I do, truly. Thank you Bucky.”**  
**“You're welcome pal. It's just... Once you're there you'll understand why.”**  
I let go of his hand and his smile fades just a tiny bit at the corner.  
Do something.  
**“Come on champ, last one to finish his lunch is a half portion!”**  
**“Hey, that's not fair! You know I'm gonna take a second serving!”**  
**“Who said I play fair! It's our last day, I wanna spend some more time at the beach, make an even better sand-castle to celebrate! Maybe the owner will put a photo of it on their website!”**  
**“ok ok, but you drive”**  
**“hum, nope! I'll be driving tomorrow to get to the pier, so you get us back to the hotel”**  
I can see he's really smiling again. Good. Sadness avert– Goddamnit, think like a fucking human Barnes!

 

_Of course I finish my lunch last, but since I'm being called a half-portion, I take aaaall the time in the world to empty my plate to the last bit of meat. We ask for the bill, leaving a generous tip. Next, Bucky takes his camera out and asks, in his annoyingly good Thai, if he can have a picture with the staff as a souvenir. I tell him I'll take it, but he insists on having me next to him, and asks another customer who seems taken aback to see a farang speak his language so well. Bucky is on the owner's left side, I'm on his right. We both put our arms around him, meaning they overlap each other's. And just seconds before the picture is taken, I feel Bucky's fingers stroking my forearm just a little. I turn my head in surprise. The picture is taken. I will look like an idiot on this one. We both let go of the Leelawadee's owner._

  
_Bucky goes to use the bathroom while I get our take-away dinner and wait for him by the jukebox. I think it was the first thing that truly brought some “nice” memories back since we left New-york. We linger in front of it, the both of us smiling a little as he runs his fingers along the song list._  
_**“Are you gonna call me kitten again, or can we go now?”** I ask jokingly_  
_**“Only if you want me to...”** he answers, and, just like our first night here, he turns around to see me stop in my tracks. The “Bucky effect” is alive and well, even after decades at the hands of Hydra._  
_I drive us back to the hotel and, even though he's not as close to me as “that night”, Bucky is still holding on tight to my waist. And it still gives me that weird tingly feeling._  
_We spend our last afternoon on the beach, competing to see who could build the best sand-castle while sabotaging each other's. It got to the point where we only had a pile of sand each and couldn't stop laughing. I look at him discreetly in those rare moments, and find my Bucky in his face, his expression, his happiness. It is still a rare occurrence, but every time sends shivers through my body. The good kind of shiver._  
_In the end we decided to build one together once more, even bigger and more intricate than our first one. Bucky gets his camera and takes pictures of me as I bring the final touch to it: another photograph of me looking like an idiot._  
_He's now seating on the balcony as I bring out our food. We eat in silence though listening to music, watching the sun set over the horizon. A part of my mind is still vaguely wondering where Bucky's taking me tomorrow, but another one tells me to just enjoy the ride without thinking about the destination. Maybe that's the best thing to do._

 _Buck wasn't very keen on sleeping when I went to bed. He wished me good night and told me he was going for a run._  
_**“You sure you're ok buddy?”**_  
_**“Yeah... it's just... nothing, it's fine. Just go to sleep, I don't want you looking like a living-dead tomorrow.”** _  
_**“Alright, I see you still have your sarcasm, it can't be that bad! Good night!”** _

_I don't sleep, or not really. I can't help but worry, it's what I mainly do now. Worry for Bucky, wait for Bucky to come back, from a run or from inside himself. And I don't even mind._  
_The tracking app is opened on my phone and I check it regularly until I see the little dot coming back. At that point I turn it off and close my eyes, pretending to sleep. I hear Bucky coming up the stairs, entering the room... and crashing next to me on the bed._  
_**"Scoot over punk."** _  
_I let what I think is a convincing sleeping noise._  
_**“Don't pretend, I know you're not sleeping”**_  
_Dammit. Guess it won't convincing enough. I turn on my side and look at him:_  
_**“How was the run?”**_  
_**“Good. Tiring, which is even better”** _  
_**“Ok then, go to sleep”** _  
_**“You're one to talk”** he says, yawning in that eerily silent way._

_*****_

_I hear talking...humph... what? That's... wait... Ok I'm awake now._  
_Bucky's talking in his sleep, in Russian. And that's never a good sign. I sit up, keeping an eye on him. It might just go as it came..._  
_But it doesn't. He starts tossing around,_  
_“ **Buc– Sasha, hey, Sasha!”** I call, shaking his shoulder a bit, but he's getting more and more agitated._  
_When he's on the verge of being uncontrollable, I catch both his arms and straddle him to block them on his torso while limiting his legs' movement._  
_“ **Sasha! Wake up, it's just a nightmare! wake! Up!!”**_  
_He opens his eyes wide and let's out an agonizing scream. He's panting, looks darting all around, trying to understand his surroundings. Looking at him, I understand I'm lucky I blocked his arms before he went for the knife he always hides under his pillow._  
**_“Sasha, it's me. It's Steve. You're alright, it was just a nightmare.”_ **  
_He looks straight at me as I cautiously let go of his arms._  
_“ **MissionStephenGrantRogers,a.k.aCaptainAmerica,bornJuly4th–"**_  
_**"Yes, that's me. I'm not you're mission, remember?”** I cut him off as I get back on my side of the bed_  
_“ **Do you remember? These last few days?”**_  
_**“Negative. I... don't know. I... what?”** I grab his latest notebook which contains the pictures of us at the Leelawadee and me with the sand-castle._  
_“ **Look... this is us, at the restaurant, and this is me, on the beach. It was all today. You wrote it down.”** He takes a moment to read his own handwriting, and stumbles on the small sketch I made of the sand castle._

 **_“I. Yes. I. Went running. Memory recollection: splashing in the waves.”_ **  
**_“Yes, that's good. You went running to get tired then came here to sleep.”_ **  
**_“You're. You're one to talk.”_ ** _he says in a sort of robotic voice, as if he was playing a record._  
_**“...Bucky?”** He shakes his head a bit before punching himself repeatedly in the temple._  
_**“No, nonono! Stop that!”** I plead, grabbing his hand. He stares at me and looks so lost, like a small child who can't find his way out, a trapped animal waiting for the hunter._  
**_“Fuck, Steve, what just happened??”_ **  
_“ **You had a nightmare. You were speaking in Russian and started tossing and punching the air.”**_  
**_“Are you ok? Did I hurt you??”_ ** _he asks, deep concern as well as slight panic in his voice_  
**_“No I'm alright, I grabbed you before you could do anything”_ **  
_**“I'm so sorry. I don't know... Ugh, goddammit! I thought I had tired myself enough. I mean, one full night of sleep, is it really too much to ask?? And–and I keep waking you up too, and what if I hurt you one day?? What if... what if I kill you in your sleep??”** he says, and I can see tears forming in his scared but angry eyes. Taking him in my arms, he rests his head on my shoulder._  
_“ **Shhh, it's ok. It's ok Bucky, shhh"** I whisper, trying to console him the best I can. I can feel him crying, his shoulder slightly shaking. but not a noise. Did they take that away as well? How?? And at what price?? Breath, stay calm. _

**_"_ _Stop beating yourself up, both literally and metaphorically. Don't be angry at yourself, it's no use, and it's not your fault. Come on, we still have a few hours before having to wake up, we'll skip the run this morning. Just sleep, ok? I'm right here.”_ **  
_I lay back down, him still in my arms, and he follows my lead. I keep him against me, our joined hands on my chest, stroking his hair gently to help him fall back asleep._

 

I've had better nights, but then again, I've had way worse. The alarm on Steve's phone goes off and I have to stop myself from crushing it.  
He's apparently managed to keep me against him the remaining hours of last night...It still feels... strange I guess. But not completely “wrong” either. Comfortable I'd say. I get up and start grabbing the last things we left scatered around the room. Then go down to the bathroom to change and gather my stuff there. I hear Steve getting ready upstairs so I grab his toiletries too.  
**“Mornin' ”**  
**“Mornin' ”**  
**“Are you feeling... better?”** he asks hesitently  
**“Yeah, don't you worry about it. And here, finish packing.”**  
**“Sir, yes sir!”** answers Steve in a pretty good imitation of the perfect little soldier.  
The truth is, I was still a bit shaken by last night's nightmare. Seeing Natka in the Red Room, the way she was treated as a little girl, me being punished for helping her and asking for Steve... I'll have to have a real talk with her when we get back.  
But for now I have to focus on the next part of the journey. Once we've checked out, I drive us all the way back to the pier, leaving the bike there. Then we take the ferry, and say our goodbyes to Koh Jum. It was a really good place to come to, but the next one will be just as beautiful, even more. The sea wind against my face, the buzzing of the engine... It all sounds like freedom after the horrors my fucked up brain decided to show me last night.  
But I want more... this feeling of being light, nearly flying, I long for it now.  
In the bus to Krabi, Steve and I sit at the very back, caps on, just in case. I get my phone out, plug in my earphone and offer one to him. I press play and close my eyes, listening to one of that piano movie's track in a loop. We should really watch the actual movie one day... I close my eyes and for half an hour, as the bus moves, eating up miles after miles, here it is: I feel like I'm flying. Like I'm floating, free of worries, free of my past.  
The kind of freedom I yearned for, even when pushed down in my own mind. Maybe that's why the Winter Soldier went MIA in the 70's...  
I must have been more tired than I thought, because when I come to we're driving into Krabi bus terminal. Steve's head is on mine, as I rest against his shoulder.  
**“Hey, champ, time to wake up”**  
**“Noit'shisfaultmum!”**  
**“What?”**  
**“Wh...what?”**  
**“You just said “No it's his fault mum!”... were you ratting on me in your dreams?”**  
**“Me? no... never...”**  
**“Uh-huh... Come on, we're gonna have to get off the bus.”** And we do, only to get on another one to the airport. And then in a plane. I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.... I repeat the mantra again and again on our flight to Surat Thani.  
I still held on to Steve's hand at take off and landing, but didn't nearly crush his fingers this time around.  
From Surat Thani we take another bus for an hour and a half. I can see Steve's getting antsy. He's aware we're close, and he heard the destination name in Thai, but it doesn't mean he knows where or what it is.

  
The rain starts pouring down halfway and I look through the window, following the raindrops as they make intricate patterns running down the glass.  
Once we arrive, everyone runs toward the reception. Steve didn't get time to properly look around him what with buckets of rain coming down. I talk to the receptionist in Thai, get our key, and we're back out, running, until I get the key in the lock. Then he walks off. Leaves his backpack, his jacket, drop it all at the door before walking around to the front of the bungalow. And he just stands there, on the tiny pier, looking at the gigantic lake and small mountains covered in bright green trees. All that right in front of us. Rain running down his face, droplets getting caught in his hair, his t-shirt soaked.  
**“Hey numbskull, come in! You can see it from inside too, you know, where it's dry!"**  
**"But it's... Bucky, it's so beautiful!”** Ugh... fuck it!  
I go stand next to him, and here it is: that sense of freedom, because who could think of anything bad or wrong in a place like this. He's right, it is beautiful.  
We let the warm rain drench us to the bone, running down our whole bodies, just standing there, gazing at the scenery. Steve moves a tiny bit closer and hooks just the tip of my little finger in his. Surprised, I take a peek at him:  
He's beaming, before turning his head too. He's beaming while looking at me.  
**“Thank you.”** he says softly.  
That creature in the pit of my stomach is stretching out, taking much more space than it use to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are eager to read more about Steve and Bucky's adventures. And yes, for the impatient ones, do not worry: love is in the air... and might manifest sooner rather than later ;)
> 
> For the most curious, here is what Bucky and Steve were listening to in a loop:  
> "Little Impulse" by Michael Nyman for The Piano OST  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQ1v_R4pH6w
> 
> So don't hesitate to share and spread the love, give some kudos and tell me what you think in the comment section :D


	7. Forelsket (Norwegian: the euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! It's Stucky Sunday once again, and so, here comes a new chapter! I was so excited to publish this one, I couldn't wait, and you'll understand why! ;)
> 
> There won't be a new layer on the NATWW map for this chapter, as the boys are not travelling, but I've added photos of their room to the "500 Rai Floating Resort" pinpoint, go check it out ;)  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=1o2yPbAKURhBjgGtyPeUW9Y5hIYM&usp=sharing
> 
> As always, Steve's POV and Bucky's "Hydra training" thoughts are in italic, dialogs in bold.  
> Enjoy!  
> *******************

After two days of non-stop monsoon, we finally get a reprieve. Steve is sitting outside next to the water, making good use of his gift.  
Even locked up in the room he still managed to draw. I swear, he could make sketches of just about anything. And when I say anything, I mean he actually drew me eating Khao Tom yesterday!  
There's no room service under this weather, but the restaurant is open 24/7, so we took turns running there under the rain and got food to take back to our room. He took the first “shift” and I have to admit it was pretty funny to see him coming back, dripping, holding the food containers under his jacket in an effort to keep them from getting wet. Yeah, it was funny... until my turn came the following day and I got as drenched as he had. He was the one laughing then... while holding a towel for me. I went to change in the bathroom and came back to see Steve drawing again. He looked up from his sketchbook and had a mocking smile on:  
**“How are you still a functioning human being?”**  
**“What?”**  
**“Buck, your hair! It's still wet!”**  
**“Oh.”** I started walking back to the bathroom but Steve caught up with me.  
**“Wait, I'll do it. Just... sit down.”** I sat in front of the mirror, not particularly liking what I saw there, as usual. Steve started by softly toweling my hair, taking his time, then grabbed the blow dryer.  
**“It's gonna make some noise, don't try to murder it.”**  
**“Ha. ha. Very funny.”** Ok, I did jump a bit when he turned it on, but controlled my reflexes.  
Steve combed the damp strands with his fingers while drying it. I closed my eyes. The combination of his hand running through my hair and the flowing heat was... soothing I'd say. Yes. Especially when it felt like he lingered just a bit on my nape, at the hairline right before the skin.  
Then it all abruptly stopped.  
**“Here, all done!”**  
**“Thanks pal. Let's eat now, I don't wanna have ran under a monsoon rain to eat cold food!”**  
And just like that, it became a kind of thing for the next day: I would go fetch the food and Steve would dry my hair before we'd eat. We spent the rest of the day talking, listening to music while he made a tone of sketches and I wrote in my notebook. There were so many different things I had discovered on this trip, and we were barely halfway. I just had to write it all down for future reference, make sure I remembered every details. I took a few pictures of the room, and one or two of Steve. He complained, until I saw he was drawing me, which made us even. There were also some sketches of two women.  
**“Who's that?”** He looked at me in shock...  
**“Did I say something wrong?"**  
**“N...no but... Bucky, that's your mom.”** It hit me without any warning. Right in the chest. _Memory recollection?_  
No... I can't rem... I can't remember.  
**“She... she looks beautiful. And the other one... that's Sarah.”**  
**“Yes. That's my mom. She took care of the both of us a lot, maybe that's why you remember her better.... Still, I can't believe they took that away from you. You really don't remember your mother?”**  
**“No...”** I said. Steve looked at me as if I had announced I was dying. Nearly in tears. He started reaching out towards my face but stopped himself mid-movement.  
**“Ok, you know what? !t's ok, it'll come back. I'm sure it will. You keep writing, alright?”**  
I went back to my seat across him and that was it.  
Now Steve is drawing on the pier and I'm sitting there, my feet and calves in the vaguely warm water, just taking in the surroundings, listening to music. “Fools rush in” is playing. It has this "dreamy" feel to it, the same kind being here with Steve next to me has.

**********

_It's sunny today, finally. Not that staying in the room with Bucky for two days straight was a bad thing, but being out here, gazing at this kind of landscape, is so peaceful. I needed that. Yesterday Bucky told me he didn't remember his own mother. I didn't dare ask about his sisters. But all I wanted was to get out, because the deep sadness of that fact was simply overwhelming, as if filling up the room and crushing me. Then I had a better idea: it took me a while to remember all their faces, because it was quite sometime ago, but I decided to draw Bucky's mom and sisters. His dad wasn't “necessary”, he wasn't the kind of person that makes good memories. So since yesterday I've been using charcoal and the watercolor pencils Bucky's got me to make a family portrait. I made a drawing of him as a young teenager, just like I remember him with his cheeky little smile and the freckles that disappeared over the years. Then I surrounded him with his three younger sisters and his mother. I kept going and made another one, smaller. It was an easy one to draw, because I will never forget that face, but it was the hardest one because I still miss her. I drew my own mother with Bucky and I as kids, in a scene I remember as if it was yesterday:_  
_I was on my bed and Bucky was taking care of me after yet another beating, while I was playing with bandages and band-aids. When my mum got home and saw the mess in the living room she started shouting a bit, and Bucky went to her to explain it was all his fault and took the blame. But she came in the bedroom and saw what state I was in. She went back out while Bucky stayed with me on the bed._  
**_“Thanks Buck, that was real swell.”_ **  
**_“You're a punk, but you've had enough for today. And anyhow, I wasn't gonna let you take all the credit!”_ **  
_My mother came back with a cookie for each of us:_  
_**“Stephen Grant Rogers, next time you make a mess, you take responsibility for it, is that clear?”** Busted._  
**_“Yes mommy.”_ **  
_“ **Now let me see that hand”**_  
_And she sat on the edge of the bed too, her look warm and tender, patching me up while Buck and I ate our cookies. That's what I draw, and it brought tears to my eyes._  
_I still have to color it though._  
_“ **Hey Steve, wanna try the restaurant for real tonight? Now that we don't have to run there under falling weather.”**_  
**_“Why not! Just, do we know if–“_ **  
**_“It's monsoon season, there are no farangs in any of the other rooms. I checked to make sure we were safe. Though there is a couple from India, they might recognize us, but other than that, the coast is clear!”_**  
**_“Alright then, If you checked I trust you. And maybe we can book ourselves for one of those activities they have.”_ **  
**_“I was actually counting on that! I did bring you here for a reason: they have this hike to a viewpoint that seems amazing. The viewpoint itself has a breathtaking outlook on the mountains and the jungle and the lake. You'll have to bring your sketchbook!”_ **  
_It's fun to see how excited he gets for me. He used to love my drawings, always asking me about them and how I was doing at school, saying how I was gonna be a great artist one day, that he believed in me... Guess a world war and some super-serum changed these plans._  
**_“I'm gonna go shower before dinner, you comin'?”_ **  
**_“Wha... sorry, what?”_ **  
_**“No, I mean, inside! Are you coming back inside?”** Is he... blushing? That would be a first, though I'm one to talk: my cheeks feel so hot I bet you could fry eggs on them, sunny-side-up!_  
_“ **Oh, yeah, no I'm ok. You go ahead, I'm gonna stay outside a bit more.”**_  
**_“Alright, see ya' in a bit”_ **  
**_“See you”_ **  
_I grab this occasion to finish my drawings, now that I don't have to hide them every two minutes fearing Bucky would see them. His mum and sisters are smiling, and so is he. Everybody's joyous in those pictures, just to remind him that happy is something he used to be, and can be again._

 **********

I let the hot water run through my hair, down my body. This is not a body that I like, but it's the one I've gotta live with now. I'm nothing like the Bucky Steve remembers. I'm not even Bucky anymore, not really, or not all the time. But it seems to be enough for him. If he accepts this mind... maybe he'd accept that body. It's something I've been thinking about on and off for the last few days, and I don't know why. More exactly, I can't remember why. But it feels as if my mind keeps memories like ambers under the ashes, still warm, able to light a fire again, if only given the chance. Maybe that chance is... maybe it's Steve. The way he blushed was adorable, though I know I blushed too. Why did I blush? Did I... I never use to let my tongue slip. Hell, I never use to talk anyway, unless asked to. Always ready to comply. A good little pet. Yet this time I did. Because whoever was in charge up there, he might have wanted that question to be true. I might have wanted it to be true... even just for a second. This... it's too much, too fast. Slow it down.  
Analyze the facts: _Do I like StephenGrantRogers? Accurate._ I like him.  
_Do I find StephenGrantRogers..._ attractive? _The muscle/fat/height ratio is ideal._ So is the eye col– _digression. StephenGrantRogers is attractive. Accurate_.  
_Does the Soldier find the “cuddling” with StephenGrantRogers satisfactory?_ _StephenGrantRogers keeps a certain level of sanity in the Soldier. “cuddling” is_... it's please _– satisfactory._   _Accurate._  
_Does the Asset want StephenGrantRogers to..._ shower with him? _The Asset... The A– failure to process emotions._ Wh... what? No, ok, stop. Just stop Sasha! Don't go there. Breathe Barnes, just. fucking. breathe... Calm your shit down and focus on something else: clean yourself.

I grab the shower gel and start washing. But what if Steve... what if he was... No, he can't see this. He cannot see this body. Even if I think I'd like...No.  
I get out of the shower, dry myself, put some clothes on. I should dry my hair too... But I know that if I go see Steve like that, he'll dry it for me. I like when he does that. I call from the window:  
**“I'm all done, your turn Steve!”**  
**“Ok, just a mi–. Ugh, how do you not think of drying your hair Bucky?”**  
**“I don't know... Can you do it?”** A little smile appears on his lips.  
**“Of course I can, you numbskull. Go on, sit down”**  
As usual he starts with the towel, then the hair dryer. It's my favorite part. Feeling his hand play around with my hair like he does to calm me down sometimes at night. It feels nearly... affectionate. Unfortunately it has to stop at some point. Though this time, even after turning the blow-dryer off, he keeps his hand in my hair. Just a few seconds. Then he pulls it all backward, smoothly, gently, grabs something in his pocket and attach it in a small bun. He leans down to rest his head on my metallic shoulder next to my face, his hand on my other shoulder, looking at me in the mirror:  
**“All good.”** Why do I feel like he's not only talking about my hair.  
**“Thank you Steve.”**  
**“You're welcome pal”**  
He straightens up and walks toward the bathroom, letting his hand, again only for a few seconds, go from my shoulder to my neck before dropping it.  
I hear the water running in the bathroom and decide to go call the reception in the meantime. I book us on the hike to the “Tarzan Viewpoint” tomorrow afternoon. The woman on the phone warns me that it is for people with good health and endurance... I have to stop myself from bursting out in a laugh and hang up after having reassured her.  
At that moment Steve enters the room with only a towel around his hips. When I see him like that I still have trouble believing he ever was a scrawny, asthmatic tiny guy who put newspaper in his shoes. It's an odd feeling, as if I've lost that little guy I barely remember, like he was taken away from me before I could say goodbye. But I'm also starting to see he's still in there, just... better looking? I remember he was already cute then. Now he's... words fail me.  
**“I forgot my clo... hmm, do I have something on my face?”**  
**“What?”**  
**“You're staring Buck.”**  
**“Oh! Oh... no, I... no, it's nothing. Sorry.”**  
**“Iiif you say so.”**  
**“Just... go get dressed.”** He goes back to the adjacent little room.  
**“By the way, I booked us for the hike tomorrow”** I say, my voice loud enough to carry to the other room.  
**“Great!”**  
**“And guess what the receptionist told me.”**  
**“What?”**  
**“She warned me that we have to be in good physical condition and have endurance”**  
I hear him straight out crack up.  
**“If she knew!”**  
He comes back dressed and ready. We leave the room but then he tells me to go ahead, that he just forgot something. I start walking towards the restaurant.

**********

_We're back from dinner, which was really nice. I mean, the food was good, but Bucky seemed... I don't know, a bit different. He wouldn't make his usual sleazy jokes, even avoiding eye contact. And I think back to when I got out of the bathroom... He was staring, wasn't he? I might have pretended otherwise, but for a few minutes, something inside me wished he'd been staring. Maybe to give an excuse for this weird butterfly feeling inside of me..._  
_Right when we left for the restaurant, I pretended to have forgotten something, when actually I went to get my drawings out and put them on his pillow. Now that we're back, I'm letting Bucky enter the room first. Turn on the lights. Walk towards the bed..._  
**_“Steve, what are... did you make these?”_ **  
**_“Yes. When you told me you didn't remember... I just, I had to do something.”_ **  
**_“This is... my mom right? And... my sisters? I had, yes... I had sisters.”_ **  
_Frowning a bit, as if focusing all his energy on his memory, he sits down on the bed and I come stay next to him._  
**_“See, I wrote their names: Your mom was called Leah. Then the eldest of your sisters, born just a year after you, was Judith. Then Hannah in the middle. And the youngest was Rachel.”_ **  
_**“And that's me, right? I'm... smiling. I used to look like that.”** He runs his fingertip over the faces, barely touching the paper as if he would erase them by pressing down too hard._  
**_“You loved them very much, a proper big brother, protecting and taking care of them. You did get in some fights with Judith, but only because she was... let's say as “feisty” as you were, and only a year younger.”_ **  
**_“And the other drawing... that's you and me! And Sarah. We had cookies? Yes... she gave us cookies... whenever you got in a fight and I'd bring you home!”_ **  
**_“Yes! I thought it could help you remember things, apparently I thought right! I hope you like it.”_ **  
_**“I do Steve, I love it. Thank you, so much.”** His smile... I haven't seen him grin like that in so long. He puts down the drawings very carefully._  
_“ **So... do you wanna go to sleep? Cause I don't feel tired, but I can let you sleep and go draw outside...”**_  
**_“No no, me neither, must be all this excitement! Hey, maybe we could take one of those kayak. It's already nigh time, no one will see us, we can have some peace and quiet.”_ **  
**_“Good idea!”_ **  
_We take our kayak and row a good distance from all the bungalows, under the full moon. It's really peaceful and breathtaking in the moonlight, the mountains around like big shadows on a starry sky background. After a little while, I decide to break the silence:_  
_“ **You know you're terrible at rowing?”**_  
**_“Gee Steve, thanks for the compliment!”_ **  
**_“No but you are! Maybe it's because you've got one arm stronger than the other, but seriously, I had to correct our course all the time.”_ **  
_**“Is that so? Well, I guess my “stronger than the other” arm could also push you overboard if it wanted to!”** which is exactly what he does. I resurface and grab the edge of the kayak:_  
_**“You lookin' for trouble, you gonna find trouble Buck!”** I say just as I tip the boat enough to make him go overboard._  
_“ **You little shit!”** he says, splashing me and I fight back._  
_**“Oh! Oh am I? You were the one to push me first, not that it's the first time you throw me in water!”** Suddenly the splashing stops. His smile is gone, his eyes serious. And sad._  
**_“I never did apologize for that.”_ **  
**_“Hey no, I was just joking. It's alright Bucky, I chose not to fight you, it was my decision.”_ **  
**_“You were my mission, I didn't know. I didn't...”_ **  
**_“It's okay. You couldn't have known, you were still so confused. But you pulled me out of the water after all, so there was hope. And don't forget I returned the favor not too long ago. So let's say we're even.”_ **  
_**“Yeah, I guess. Still, I'm so–“** I take his face in my hands to make him look at me._  
_**“Stop. Stop apologising. You were a victim in all that.”** I say firmly, staring him dead in the eyes. Maybe longer than necessary. His beautiful blue eyes. That's when I understand I missed those eyes, more than I could possibly say. More than a friend, even the best of friends, would have._  
_But right now I don't want to use words. I want to show it. So badly..._  
**_“To hell with it!”_ **  
_And I kiss him. My hands still on both sides of his head, I plant my lips on his. But he doesn't react. He doesn't move. At all. He starts sinking actually, so I stop. Good thing I was holding his head..._  
_“ **Hey, hey! Keep swimming Bucky!”**_  
_**“Hum... yeah... huh...”** Complete silence._  
_“ **Can we, hmm... get back in the boat?”**_  
_**“Yes. Yes, of course.”** I feel like a total idiot, and also a bit disappointed. I steady the canoe for Buck to climb back in and he holds out his metal arm to help me up. Then he just stares into the emptiness, blank faced, and I grow more and more concerned: Have I made a complete fool of myself? But more importantly: have I made an awful mistake?_  
_“ **Hmm... Bucky?”**_  
**_“Yeah.”_ **  
_**“Can you... I don't know, can you say something?”** And for the first time, the silence between us turns awkward._  
**_“Ok, we're... just gonna forget this ever happened, alright? Just forget it.”_ **

 ***

**“But... no! I... I've forgotten enough already. I've forgotten my whole family goddamnit! My memory is falling to pieces Steve, and if it wasn't for you it'd be completely gone. I don't want to forget anymore.”** I take Steve's hand in mine while looking at him intently.  
**“Put me back together. Please.”** I say. He looks down at our hands as I intertwine our fingers. When he looks back up I'm staring at him, focused. And, as the world around us gets paused, I lean in.

Hesitant at first, lips just a few inches from his. But he's not rushing me. He lets me do my thing, at my own pace. I can feel his breath flowing out. Finally, our lips touch, just a little bit at first, carefully, before slightly backing away like the edge of a small wave licking the sand only to go back to the sea. And just like a wave, I go back for more, again, staying a tad closer, several small kisses, as if to get a taste. I have to get used to it again, remember how it feels, how it all works. I wonder how long it's been since I kissed someone because I truly wanted to... Then the tip of our noses touch and I look at his lips before covering them with mine, completely, as I forget whatever thought was going through my brain.

I start to feel this strange urge... a longing to be closer to him. I follow it, slowly putting one of my hands on Steve's nape and the other between his shoulder blades, pulling him towards me, like I needed to do this, to tell him I missed him, Bucky missed him, for so long...  
All these sensations... I know I kissed people in the 70's, Sasha remembers. I kissed girls. I kissed guys. But it was more for “business” than “pleasure”. Then there was Natka...but still, this time is different. This is Steve. I'm kissing Steve, and Steve is kissing me back. He's put his arms around me and we form a sort of cocoon around ourselves, a place where only this kiss matters. And this is all so... so overwhelming, but in a good way. This whole thing is just like him: larger than life. I can't really recall the past, but there's an echo somewhere deep inside, where the embers are. An echo saying I've been waiting for it. For a long long time. I think I'm happy.

 ***

_He's kissing me. And all I can think of is precisely this: he's kissing me! Bucky is kissing me. Holding me so close, touching me, as I am holding and touching him. One hand on his cheek, the other on his nape, going to play with his hair. And I feel like a 12 year old getting his first peck on the mouth, because I finally realize this is what a kiss should feel like._  
_Yet, as gently as it had begun, it ends as we sit back. And I'm breathless. Bucky Barnes has managed the fit of making Captain America breathless. I look at him and gently tuck a loose strand behind his ear, strand that surely escaped his bun because of me. Then, looking back at me:_  
_**“Maybe... we should...”** he suggests hesitantly._  
**_“Yes, we should.”_ **  
**_“I'll let you row though, since I'm “terrible” at it”_ **  
_I don't even have an answer to that. No witty comment. I'm in a sort of daze that only allows me to bring us back to our pier. Once in the room I change into my sweat pants as he goes to the bathroom and comes back in his tshirt and shorts. In silence. I get into bed, so does he. Still in silence. Then after a few minutes he turns towards me, hesitant:_  
**_“Can I...?”_ **  
_**“I thought you'd never ask.”** I answer in relief, opening my arms wide for him to come rest against me. _

_He wraps himself around my torso and legs, something he's never done before. And in that instant I might be one of the happiest man on the planet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Fo those of you who read the comments or follow me on Tumblr, you might have been expecting it, as for the others... as someone told me: ABOUT TIME!  
> But you know me, I don't do plotless stuff: I want to give you the details and the evolution and how it all came to this moment! The whole shebang!
> 
> Anyway, for the music lovers like me, here is what Bucky is listening to while sitting next to Steve:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUMLev7dg8I
> 
> And maybe you wonder if I listened to anything particular while writing this chapter, to put me in the mood. Well, in fact I did, and it's right there:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QM1QdRpFxU
> 
> I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, so as always show and spread the love, and tell me what you think!  
> Love you all <3


	8. Hygge (Danish: an absence of anything annoying, taking pleasure in the presence of soothing things)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people!  
> Stucky Sunday has come around, and so has a new chapter! No traveling in this one, so no update on the map, but here is a picture of what the boys can see from the viewpoint.  
> http://f.ptcdn.info/209/043/000/o85otmku7U3uRafMSxv-o.jpg
> 
> We continue with the Steve's POV Italic style in here. Also, I'm quite exhausted, so I did proof read it, but if you see any typo, don't hesitate to notify me ;) Now all I can say is  
> ENJOY!  
> ************

_I slowly wake up, refusing to open my eyes just yet, not knowing what time it is and not caring: I haven't slept that well in ages. But the coziness is cut short when I cannot feel Bucky in bed. I pat the empty space next to me before opening my eyes completely. An impressive number of thoughts flood my mind all at once: Where is he? Is he ok? Did he just go for a run? Or has he fled? Is it even Bucky in control? Is it my fault??_  
_And above all the others, this last question is the loudest in my head: Is it my fault? I kissed him yesterday, taking him by surprise, and thought it was a mistake. But then he kissed me, he did it. Still, I can't help but wonder if it was too much for him, like “that night” we came back from dinner on the motorcycle and he held on tight to me. At the time he reacted in a strange way, saying his head was “buzzing”, that it was all too much for him. Is that what happened?_

 _I get out of bed and decide to at least open the curtains before checking the tracking app, which proves unnecessary: Bucky is sitting on the small pier, his feet in water, perfectly still. I notice a tray next to him, with cups, a coffee pot and what looks like a croissant._  
_**“Mornin' Steve.”** he says without turning around as I open the french door and step outside._  
_**“Mornin' Bucky!”** I reply and go sit next to the tray, leaving space between us. I don't know what's going on, but I'd rather leave him some breathing room if that's what he needs._  
**_“Oh, thanks for breakfast Bucky!”_ **  
**_“Was up early, might as well be useful.”_ **  
**_“Did you eat anything?”_ **  
**_“No... not hungry.”_ **  
_**“Come on, drink some coffee at least.”** I plead, pouring us both a cup and handing him one._  
_As his fingers touch mine to grab it, he looks at me for the first time since I came out, and I can see that look in his eyes. The one that says “I'm lost.” Then he turns back and strands of hair hide his face from me._  
_I let him drink his coffee in peace and in silence. Once done he puts the cup back down and keeps staring at some imaginary point straight ahead. I take time finishing mine, watching out for any sign, but it seems he has retreated in himself, his body looking like a simple, and extremely still, shell._  
_When the last drop of caffeine is swallowed, I decide to break the ice that's slowly forming between us:_  
_“ **Bucky, are... I...”** suddenly my mouth feels dry, my throat tight, not letting any words out, and that's supposing I'd know what to say... Ok, breathe, let's start simply Steve._  
**_“Are you okay?”_ **  
_He doesn't move for maybe another minute, then slowly turns toward me._  
**_“Frankly... I don't know Steve.”_ **  
**_“What's going on? Is it... is it yesterday?”_ **  
**_“I don't know... I guess.”_ **  
_I knew it. I knew it was my fault._  
**_“Ok, listen to me Buck: what happened yesterday doesn't have to happen again. I acted on impulse, and yes, you reciprocated, but that was in the moment. If you feel that this one kiss was enough, or even already too much, I'll accept it. It's all good pal, I understand.”_ **  
_Without saying a word, he looks back toward the horizon and, out of the blue, lets himself slide down into the lake._

 

Steve has finished his “speech”, and I slip into the water. I let myself go down, feeling it creeping up my thighs, my hips, my torso and finally my face. It all happened in less than a second, but I could feel it all. And now the lightness, the silence surrounds me. I cannot face Steve right this moment, I need to think. And thinking is easier deep in the water, where it's calm. During my time with Hydra I was... “taught” how to hold my breath for three full minutes, which is plenty of time seeing how fast thoughts race through my mind. And even if it might worry Steve, I take my chances and stay underwater.  
Yesterday was... like a goddamn revelation. An answer to a prayer I didn't even know I made. This moment, wrapped in Steve's arms, his lips on mine, it was like some kind of heaven. And... I think I felt happiness again, even just for that moment. But I felt it; and that's the problem. Because I do not know what to do with it. With that.  
I might have been happy before, but it was a lifetime ago, even two. And yes, if I think about it, if I put together all the scattered and weird thoughts or feelings I had since we left, I wanted this. I wanted it to happen. Yet, between wanting it and it actually happening, there's a huge difference. A difference I wasn't prepared for. Happiness is a foreign concept to me, the Asset doesn't need to be happy. Only to comply.  
I don't know what to do, or how to react. I simply don't know what to tell him... What do I tell him? How do I begin to formulate what's going on in my head?  
Running out of ideas and oxygen, I swim back towards Steve. Resurfacing in front of him, I look up to be greeted by a relieved expression:  
**“I was starting to worry you know!”**  
**“Sorry. But for future reference, I can hold my breath for three minutes”**  
**“That's great, but a warning beforehand would have been more useful. Anyway... you just... left, so I gotta admit I don't really know what to think.”**  
I stay in the water, my head barely above the surface, still trying to find a way, a word. Come on Barnes! I know you're here! You are me, I'm Bucky! What would I say? Jeeesus, just think!!  
Finally I look up to him once more, my gaze locking with his:  
**“I'm scared.”**  
As I thought, a slight expression of concern starts overtaking his face.  
**“Of what?”**  
**“Of... of you Steve. I'm scared of you. Of us.”**  
Now it's full blown panic I can see.  
**“No but, Bucky, you... ughhh, you don't have to be scared. Especially not of me! I told you: we can stop everything right now, I understand, we don't have to do anyth–“**  
**“Steve. Shut up.”** I cut him short before swimming closer. I put my hand on his knees and try to explain myself.  
**“I'm... it's not– I'm not not scared of you. Not literally. I'm scared of what might happen. What will happen. Because I want to. I don't want to stop, and that scares me. I'm so fucked up Steve, you have no idea, and I'm afraid of so many things. Of how you make me feel. Of happiness. Of screwing it up. Of hurting you...”** Without noticing, I have put my head to rest on Steve's lap, but realize it when I feel him tucking a strand of drenched hair behind my ear before slowly caressing my head. I close my eyes and revel in the sensation, listening to his answer.  
**“I'm afraid too you know. I don't know what's going to happen, and I've never felt this way either.”**  
I can't help myself and have to look back up, at his face.  
**“But I do remember what happiness feels like, and yesterday you asked me to put you back together. Well maybe happiness is the first piece, and maybe I have to help you find it. So if you want to carry on, I'm not gonna leave. Not even because you're damaged. I'm here Bucky, and I'm not going anywhere.”**  
He's done it again. I feel the warmth spread through me, happiness. He checks on both sides before leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead.  
**“Feel better now?”**  
**“I think... yeah, I think I do. I'm still afraid, all this is so _new_** **. And I can't promise there won't be any more accidents, and what if I go mental again, and I hur– ”**  
**“Hey, Bucky. It's ok. I know you can't promise me that, and I'll never ask you to. I know what I'm signing up for. We'll take it slow, see how it goes. And it doesn't change anything, not between us. It just makes it stronger. ”**  
**“Yes, you're right.”**  
**“Pfff, when am I NOT right?”**  
**“Okaaay, scoot over punk!”**  
**“Jerk.”** he replies with a smile.  
I get out of the water, bringing a small portion of the lake with me, and lie down next to Steve, half our legs still soaking.  
**“I think I'm finally gonna have my croissant now, you want some?”**  
**“If you don't mind...”**  
**“See, that's what happen when you skip breakfast and go for a swim, you get hungry!”**  
**“Sorry mom!”**  
We start laughing as he separates his croissant in two and give me one half. I turn my head to look at him as I grab it, and he does the same. Lost in his gaze, I finally know what that creature in my belly was. And it's been set free.

_The events of yesterday and this morning are still seared in my mind, and still very confusing. I never thought I'd say those words to Bucky. But I meant every single one of them. And at least now we can let all these thoughts and feelings out and be confused together. We don't really know what all “this” is, and I do wonder how long it's been latent between us. I know one thing for sure though: it feels right as rain._

_And talking about rain, we've been lucky so far: not a drop since yesterday, meaning the hike to the viewpoint has been done in perfect weather!_  
_After our mini breakfast, we went and had an actual meal at the hotel's restaurant for lunch. Then I went to get my backpack and filled it with sketchpads and brushes and charcoal and my watercolor pencils. Bucky took his camera and one of his notebooks, then off we went._  
_The receptionist was right to warn Bucky about the endurance thing. We didn't have a problem of course, but the couple that was with us struggled after a few miles of steep uphill walking in the dense jungle. Finally, half way through the hike, the husband said he couldn't take anymore and wanted to go back down. Our poor guide looked torn: he couldn't let them go back down by themselves, for obvious safety reason. But he also didn't want to stop us from getting to the viewpoint. Bucky talked to him in Thai, explaining that we were expert hikers and had a map and that we would find our way. The guide only agreed after having him promise to be back down in 2h, which would be the normal time a group would come back._  
_Which is how we've end up all by ourselves at the “Tarzan viewpoint”._

 _It is truly an incredible sight. From here we can see everything: the jungle, the reservoir a bit further down, and blue sky all around... the both of us get our things out as we can't wait to take it all in. I start sketching and drawing and coloring while Bucky writes and takes pictures._  
_**“Will you sketch the view in my notebook please?”** He asks me all of a sudden. How could I refuse._  
_“ **Of course Bucky.”**_  
_He gets up and come give me his notebook before sitting next to me, having already put his camera away. I never really liked having someone looking over my shoulder when I was drawing or painting. Not even my teachers! It was different with Bucky though, just like everything else I guess. Sometimes I would sit on the floor, sketching or just doodling some simple stuff. He would come sit on the couch behind me with a book, but I knew he was watching me, I could feel it. Yet it didn't bother me._  
_When I'm done with my drawing of the view in front of us, I give Bucky his notebook back._  
_**“You like it?”** I ask._  
**_“No... I love it! Thanks Steve!”_ **  
_**“Oh, the suspense almost killed me!”** I say on a sarcastic tone before punching him playfully in the shoulder and getting up to pack my things. He lets out a little laugh that still echoes a bit in the immensity of the valley beneath us. That's when it dawns on me: we're alone. Completely alone. Nothing to annoy us, interrupt us, no one to trouble or attack us. Just trees, water and the cloudy sky. Both Bucky and I stand towards the edge in silence, absorbing how calm it is._  
_And just like on our first day here, when we were standing in the rain, he gets closer. This time though, instead of only holding my little finger, he takes my whole hand in his. I follow my first instinct and rest my head on his shoulder. My heart feels like it could explode with joy, but my mind has never been so at peace._  
_**“See Bucky, it's not really that different. Just... better I'd say.”** I whisper._  
_**“I'm still afraid.”** he says, and after a pause adds **“But yes. I think it might be better.”** I can't help but smile at his answer._  
**_“Maybe we should go Steve. We have to get back down, and those monsoon clouds are dangerously close.”_ **  
_I straighten up and rotate to face him, letting go of his hand._  
_“ **Just... will you let me... I mean, I'd like to do it right this time. Can I?”** I ask clumsily. The spark in his eyes tells me he knows what I'm asking, and he gives me a simple nod as he gets a bit closer._  
_I gently put my hands on each side of his face, going high enough that my fingertips cross his hairline. Looking him in the eyes, then at all the little features of his face. I go slowly this time, paying attention to every details: the small scars I remember from our childhood, the ones I don't know, his impossibly thick eyelashes and blue eyes... his lips still the same as ever, maybe less smiling than they use to be. Those lips that finally touch mine, tenderly. There's no rush here, I want to make it better than my “what the hell!” kiss from yesterday. I first kiss the small scar on the left of his upper lip, one I remember. Then the one under his lower lip, right in the middle. I don't know this one, but it doesn't matter, as I feel a small smile stretch his mouth, and can't help myself. My lips are now fully covering his as I let my hands go to his nape. I sense his hands grab my waist and can't help but smile too as we keep on kissing, more passionately than yesterday and much longer than I expected. Or at least long enough that I feel the first drops of a monsoon rain on my naked arms..._

It slowly starts raining as Steve and I are still kissing, but apparently he doesn't care, and neither do I. He was right, he did deserve a chance to do this properly. I mean, taking me so much by surprise that I started sinking... there was space for improvement! And improved it has. I loved how gently he touched my face, how his fingers ran through my hair to join at the back of my neck, the two small kisses on the little scars around my lips. But most of all, I savor the sensation of his lips on mine, relishing in the feeling of being... what? Wanted? Or maybe more like cared for. No, he already cared for me before that. I can't find the right word, why can't I... Oh just shut up Barnes!  
The rain rapidly turns into a downpour, though not a full blown monsoon yet, and I can taste raindrops slide into our kiss, my hands feeling Steve's t-shirt clinging to his body the more we get soaked. But something else is there, around us. A scent I never experienced before, something as powerful and wild as it is soothing. He lets go of me, stoping the kiss. I inhale deeply, memorizing this calm feeling for safekeeping, while the rain finally gains full access to Steve's face, and I watch his mouth move as droplets run along his jaws, his cheeks, his lips where mine were a second ago.  
**“Hey, Bucky, did you hear what I just said?”**  
**“ What? Hmm no, sorry. But, can you smell that? What Is that?”** he gives me slightly mocking but still tender smile  
**“It's new to me too, but I'd say it's the warm soil getting as drenched as we are!”**  
**“Yes, that must be it. It's... sooo...”**  
**“wild; but somehow soothing at the same time.”** Steve continues, as if he was reading my mind.  
**“I feel the same Bucky.”** he says, taking my flesh hand in his and delicately rubbing my knuckles with his thumb for a few seconds before letting go and grabbing his bag.  
**“We should really get back down though, we don't have much time left and this monsoon doesn't look like it's gonna end any time soon!”**  
And so we make our way down as I replay the kiss in my head. How the hell did we not do this earlier? Well, maybe the fact that it was not “acceptable” back in our days, then I was presumed dead but actually brain-washed by Hydra, and he was turned into a giant ice cube... surely didn't help. But seriously, I gradually get the sensation that all of this was here before, all these feelings, somewhere deep. I mean, that “creature” didn't come from nowhere. I can't really remember though, and it's killing me, yet at the same time, would remembering that mean remembering everything else? I'm not sure I want to pay that price. I'm already screwed up enough as it is, and still afraid it will be too much for Steve. Still afraid of hurting him. Still afraid of how he makes me feel too. Could _he_ hurt me, even if not on purpose?  
Before I know it we're back at the bungalow, and I call dibs on the shower as he starts stripping down to his boxer shorts. Sasha was right, the muscle/fat/height ratio is perfect. But the more passionate" thought I refused to entertain before replaces the Asset's cold logic: Holy cow! He's... perfect. I have to stop staring though, and start making my way to the bathroom when he asks:  
**“You know, yesterday, when you asked if... did you... did you mean it?”** Once again his blushing is simply adorable.  
**“I think... I think I did, in a way. But I'm–”**  
**“No I know, don't worry. Me neither. I just... I wanted to know.”**

He gives me kind of a shy smile, an image I take with me to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you liked what you read, and there is more coming your way!  
> So stay on the look out, but also spread the word, show the love, and leave your thoughts below!  
> Love you all <3


	9. A chuisle mo chroí (Irish Gaelic: the pulse of my heart/My heart's beloved)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part I: Greng jai (Thai: the fear of your attitude or needs being a burden to others)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, I didn't post anything last week, and I'm sorry for that! But first, I do have personal extenuating circumstances, and second... well, nobody seemed to mind or came asking for it. But anyway, this is the core of my Stuckyverse, so I won't stop publishing it, even if very few of you (to whom I'm very grateful) want to read it!
> 
> Anyway, so yes, see, I had so many things to say in the previous chapter (like, getting to 6 pages too many), that I had to divide it. I added it to this one, which was already written, so I had to cut THIS one in two!  
> Which gives you the first TWO PARTS CHAPTER in "Not all those who wander..."  
> *****A SLIGHT WARNING: Bucky's time with HYDRA is talked about a bit in this chapter, and there are mentions of psychological torture that might make some of you uncomfortable. I know I was hurting just writing about it so...*****
> 
> Hope you still enjoy and don't worry, I'll make sure not to keep you waiting too long for the second part, I'll post it next Sunday ;)
> 
> **PS: traveling boys in this chapter, so here you go, another layer aded to the map:  
> https://drive.google.com/open?id=1o2yPbAKURhBjgGtyPeUW9Y5hIYM&usp=sharing **

_We took a break from any activities yesterday, simply canoeing on the lake, hidden from the world. Tomorrow is our last day. So, once we've gone for dinner and are back in our bungalow, I lie down on the bed as Bucky checks on his little electronic egg thing who's dead again, which infuriates him, then goes put his pj's on. Looking at the activity leaflet, I ask Bucky if he'd like to do another one._

_**“I think we should go for the “high endurance” one, just to test ourselves”** I say jokingly. Of course we're amused by the level of “endurance” required, as we're both way past it._  
_**“Ok then, what is it?”**_  
_**“It's another hike. It looks great, we start off from a river bank and go through the forest. Then we'll have to get wet as we go down through a cave–“** _  
_**“No!!”** he nearly shouts as he gets back in the bedroom. I frown at his sudden refusal._  
_**“It's just a cave Bucky, and when you come out it's supposed to be really beautiful–”**_  
_**“No.”** I look up and, observing his face, discern genuine fear._  
_**“Why... I mean, you've never been claustro–”**_  
_I stop mid-sentence, slowly understanding. No, he wasn't claustrophobic when I knew him. But I haven't known him for a long time._  
_**“What did they do to you? Tell me.”** I plead. I know he's been treated in the worst of ways, and it still makes me simultaneously sick and mad with rage whenever my mind wander to those thoughts. But I need to know, because how can I help him otherwise?_  
_**“I can't. Steve, I can't, I won't put that on you. I've been through it and that's already enough, I don't want these...”things” to come haunt you too. You have your own cross to bear, I won't impose mine on top.”**_  
_**“Ok, come here.”** I beckon. He sits down on the bed, next to me, but not close enough to touch._  
_**“I promise I won't get mad Bucky. But... I want to help you, and for that I need to know, to understand. It's my choice, you're not imposing anything”**_  
_He answers me without meeting my eyes, looking straight ahead:_  
_**“I know you want to help me Steve. I wish you could, but you have no idea what they did to me.”**_  
_**“So tell me!”** I say, grabbing his hand. He's startled by my move, but doesn't take his hand away mine, actually holding it tight._  
_**“There's no way I'm putting that burden on you. Especially now. That's one thing I'm afraid of: my past, my fucked up past and how it would hurt you. I won't let it, not as long as I can be in control.”**_  
_I still know Bucky well enough to know when not to insist. Instead I slide under the sheets, turning my bedside lamp off._  
_**“Alright then. The last thing I want is to make you feel pressured. But... you know I'm here, right?”**_  
_**“Yes. Go to sleep now.”** _  
_**“You're not coming?”** _  
_**“Not yet... I'm gonna write a bit, but I'll go in the other room so I don't bother you”** _  
_**“You never bother me Bucky. You should know that by now.”** _  
_**“Well, good night then”** he replies with a weak, tired smile._  
_**“Good night; and try to get some sleep. Please.”**_

* * *

 

It's there. In front of me. Lying on the soiled floor. At least it can lie down, I can't. It's so small here, I can't. Why is this here? Is it moving? Where is the other one? Where's mine?  
The light, so much light....... I can't sleep. I can't stand. I can't lie down. And there's this sound. Like it's going to make my ears bleed. Getting in my brain like a drill. Randomly. The Sound. And I can't sleep, it wakes me up. I want to sleep!  
Is that blood? Is it dead? ............ I don't want it, it's not me, it's dead.  
But can it cover my ear?  
..............Where am I? Can I use it? No I shouldn't....... But who am... Steve. No I'm not Steve. I need Steve. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?  
Whathappened?  
AndtheSoundishere nononono pleaseletmeout letmeoutletmeoutLETMEOOOUT!!!!

**“Bucky, BUCKY! You're awake now, you're awake!”**  
Where am I?  _Analyse surroundings. StephenGra–_ It's Steve. I called for him, I need him.  
**“Steve! Steve, you came! You got me out!”**  
**“Yes... yes it's me pal, I'm here, sshhhh”** he says, looking a bit surprised as he cautiously takes me in his arms. In his arms. Am I safe? Is this another one of their tricks? _Asset, in the Chair. Sit back. Electrodes._  
No no, it feels familiar. He runs his finger through my hair. “Doth'hairthingagain”. I remember, I said that. I know where I am.  
**“We're... we're in Thailand. It's not an illusion, you're really here, right?”**  
**“Yes, it's really me and I'm really here. You just had a nightmare Buck, started thrashing around. You also gripped your arm and you... kinda talked. You called for me and... what's “stehbunker”?”**  
I jump back at the word, as if he had tasered me, but nearly fall on the floor, realizing I was on a chair this whole time.  
**“Hey, hey, it's alright. Come on, come to bed. You fell asleep while writing.”** I look around and see my notebook opened on the table, an abandoned pen next to it. Slowly getting up, I walk toward the bed and finally collapse on it, fully dressed. Steve goes around and climb in on the other side before getting closer.  
Did I really say that? How could I let it escape?!  
**“Bucky... you said I got you out when you woke up. What did I get you out of? It's about why you won't go in the cave, wasn't it?”**  
There's no turning back now. Letting a long sigh out to give myself time to think, I come to the conclusion that a white lie won't save me anyway. My mind is too exhausted. I might as well tell the truth, hoping he won't ask too many questions...  
**“Yes.”** I see him think for a minute, trying to make sense of it.  
**“You kept repeating “stehbunker” in between english words, including my name. I only have remnants of my broken German but... “steh” means “standing”, doesn't it? And “bunker”...”**

Again I feel this electric jolt run through my body, making me shiver.  
I nod and his expression tells me he is slowly putting the pieces together, though I'm still hoping he doesn't. He takes my hand, my metal hand, in his and, looking me in the eyes, asks me on a dead serious tone:  
**“Bucky, what was your nightmare about?”**  
I'm trapped. I won't be able to lie, I'm too tired. And it's too recent, all the images still fresh, flashing before my eyes. I know why he took my metal hand in his. He said it himself, I gripped it... I sit up, facing him. Inhale, exhale, and go.  
**“I'll tell you. But don't interrupt me. I cannot say this more than once.”**

  
I explain to him what a Stehbunker is, how he nearly guessed: yes, it's a standing cell. I explain to him why I was put in there with one arm missing and the metal one lying on the floor in front of me. How, when still myself, I clawed at my own skin for hours and ripped off the first version of it, giving myself more scars than “necessary” around my shoulder. How they punished and later broke me by leaving me in the Stehbunker for days at a time with the lights permanently on, no sewage whatsoever and that ear-piercing sound randomly played.

Unable to lie down or crouch or sleep. I also tell him that for the first few days he was my only refuge. He was the one I asked for when they took me out to hose me down before putting me back in. That when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I played the memories of our childhood in my head, before they scrambled them, taking out any meaning they could have had. And finally, that in a 35.5 by 35.5 inches cell, sleep deprived, I started hallucinating, seeing the walls getting closer than they already were, making me claustrophobic now that I'm not brainwashed anymore.  
I stare at our joined hands, looking down while recounting it all, maybe in shame of putting this on his shoulders. I finally look up to see his face frozen in horror, a few tears running down his cheeks.

  
**“No please don't cry! I'm so sorry Steve, I didn't want to–“**  
**“Don't you dare apologize.”** he replies through clenched teeth. There's a kind of cold anger right beneath the surface, but he keeps it in check for my sake. We stay seated facing each other for a little while, both trying to process what has been said, this horror story still hanging in the air. Finally Steve manages to let the anger go and cups my face with his right hand, his look caring once more.  
**“You do not have anything to apologize for, you were a powerless victim. I'm the one who's sorry. Sorry you had to go through all this. Sorry I couldn't catch you in time. Sorry I didn't come for you when you needed it.”**  
He takes my metal hand to his chest, where I can feel his heart beat.  
**“You feel that? It means I'm here now. And whenever you doubt it, whenever you get lost in your own mind, it'll be here to remind you. I'm with you Bucky, til the end of the line.”**  
The corners of his mouth go up in a small but meaningful smile, and I can't help but smile back.  
**“Now, do you think you can go back to sleep?”**  
**“I don't know.”**  
**“We can just stay awake if you want.”**  
**“Yeah, I... I'd like that, if you don't mind.”**  
**“If I did I wouldn't have suggested it”**  
He lies back down but doesn't take me with him, leaving me a choice. I choose the comforting option and lies close to him, my head on his chest, listening to his heart.

* * *

_Once Bucky has settled down, I give him a small forehead kiss and simply play with his hair._  
_**“Steve?”**_  
_**“Yes.”**_  
_**“I'm scared about tomorrow.”**_  
_**“We're not doing the cave thing, I promise”**_  
_**“No. About the night bus. I though it was getting better but... What if I have another nightmare? What if I wake up and go mental? I could hurt people.”**_  
_**“It won't happen. I'll be there with you. And you don't have nightmares every night.”**_  
_**“But what if I do?”**_  
_I take a long breath in and let it out, a plan forming in my head._  
_**“Then we won't sleep.”**_  
_**“I'm not sure that's a good idea either. Let's just say that sleep depravation doesn't suit me well.”**_  
_**“Who said you'll be sleep depraved? We are going to stay in bed tonight and all tomorrow. We'll surely fall asleep at some point, and if you have another nightmare, there won't be anyone to hurt!”**_  
_**“I could hurt you.”**_  
_**“Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself, and of you. Now what do you say, shall we stay in bed all day? You use to do it when I was sick and too weak to stand up. You'd even spoon with me sometimes. It's about time I return the favor.”**_  
_**“You wanna know a secret? In a way I was glad when you got sick, because I secretly liked spooning with you and taking care of you.”**_  
_**“Well... I secretly liked it too. Though I tried to convince myself it was all in good friendship. Because you know, God and all that...”** We both chuckle at our own awkwardness and cowardice at the time._

_The night goes by quietly, as we reminisce moments we both liked a bit “too much” but wouldn't admit we did, realizing there were so many lost opportunities, so many buried feelings, but also so much pressure from society back then._  
_**“Thank god for the 21st century!”**_  
_**“Even though it was quite a shock after decades as an ice cube, on that we both agree.”**_

  
_*****_  
_We're woken up by the alarm I had set up. It's night time again, meaning we must have fallen asleep sometime in the afternoon._  
_**“Hey, evenin' .”**_  
_**“Evenin' Bucky. Slept better?”**_  
_**“Yes. I think talking about our past, about us, the good memories... It helped quite a bit. That and the spooning I'd say...”**_  
_I might be blushing, but I won't try to hide it anymore._  
_**“Glad to be of service!”** I reply, giving him a little wink, before suggesting we should start packing._  
_**“The bus leaves in an hour if I remember correctly. A bus to where by the way?”** I ask, fishing for clues on our next destination._  
_**“Oh you won't fool me that easily Rogers!”** I don't know what comes over me, maybe it's because of his cocky smile, or my need to keep him in a good mood, but I suddenly grab and start tickling him._  
_**“Ah! Steve, no! Hahaha, sto– haha”**_  
_**“Tell me! Tellmetellmetellmeee!”**_  
_**“Haa, stop!”**_  
_We're fooling around, just like when we were kids. The problem being that we've both quite grown up since then, which becomes clear when Bucky's feet knock down the table and chair as he wrestles to escape me._  
_**“Oops...”**_  
_**“Happy now?”** he says, giving me a falsely scolding look, crossing arms._  
_**“And I still won't tell you! All I can say is that we're heading to Bangkok with this bus, but we're not staying there.”**_

  
_Once in the bus we settle down for the long trip, and as all the other passenger go to sleep one by one, we're the only two left awake. I read, Bucky writes, we listen to music. He snuggles up to me and I put my arm around him reassuringly. There won't be any nightmares tonight._  
_We travel by bus through the night, by plane, then another short bus trip where Bucky finally accepts to take a small nap, and lastly by boat. Once we get to the pier it becomes clear that we're staying on another island, but that's really all I know. The whole travel takes us one night, then one day and another night, meaning we arrive at the resort just before dawn. The receptionist, who apparently had to wake up to welcome us, takes us to our cabin at a lazy, sleepy pace. It seems to be the most remote, but closest to the beach, which is perfect as far as I'm concerned. We'll be away from the other guests and able to resume our morning runs here. Once we've dropped our bags in the rustic bungalow, and before Bucky can start unpacking, I take his hand and drag him outside, towards the beach. Silence surrounding us, I sit down facing the ocean, and so does he, finally understanding what I'm doing._  
_The sky slowly turns hues of pink, then orange and blue, before the sun actually starts appearing above the water._  
_We stay on the deserted beach for maybe an hour, enjoying the simple pleasure of being alone together._

  
_**“I'm glad I got you back.”**_  
_**“I'm glad you wanted me back.”**_  
_**“I'll always want you back Bucky.”**_  
_Getting closer to him, I rest my head on his shoulder and put my hand on his, this time knowing and accepting that it's in much more than friendship, as for the first time he gives me a little kiss on the head_.

* * *

 We... cuddled once more last night, as we've been doing most nights since Khao Sok. I say “most nights”, because there are still sleepless ones, where I'd rather leave Steve alone in the comfort of the bed and simply lie down on the floor or write in my notebook.  
I have to admit, I also still have trouble with the concept from time to time. Some evenings, I wrap myself around him like a giant cat and stay there all night, but on others the realization that nobody has touched me in a soft, gentle and caring way for decades comes crawling into my mind, making it all seem wrong. Maybe that's why it feels so right, but still a bit off: it's been way too long.

  
I'm awake before Steve and untangle myself from him to get up. The not-so-little punk is stretched across the whole mattress, as I vaguely recall him doing back in Brooklyn. Some things never change, except that now he's 6 fucking feet tall, which forces me to cling to him if I don't wanna fall off the bed. However, on the good nights, I can't say that I mind...  
I slept with a tshirt and underwear, as always, so only have to silently put on a pair of shorts. I pull my hair back in a small bun and leave him a note so that he won't go mental, wondering where I am.  
_“Awake before you, Sleeping Beauty. Gone for a run towards the south, catch up if you can!_  
_B._  
Getting out in the dim light of dawn, the air is still fresh, but I can feel the humidity already settling down. It's monsoon season, but here on Koh Mak we've been lucky until now. Steve even got to tan a little, which gives him a kind of casual Crusoe look when combined with his stubble. It also makes his otherwise invisible freckles come out a bit. I think I like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter's first part, even with the reminiscing of Bucky's experience at the hands of Hydra.  
> For those of you who noticed, yes, the "little electronic egg thing" is in fact a Tamagochi. You might find it weird, but there is an actual explanation, that will come in another story I have in mind! ;)  
> As always, you can tell me what you think, liked or didn't like in the comments, and don't forget to spread the love my dears readers! <3


	10. A chuisle mo chroí (Irish Gaelic: the pulse of my heart/My heart's beloved)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II: Yuánfèn (Chinese: a relationship brought by fate, the binding force that eventually links two person together with love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a looong time coming, but as there didn't seem to be anyone actually waiting for it, I thought I didn't even need to post it. Then came along a really nice comment that made me at least want to publish this chapter, which is the last I wrote (but not the last of the fanfic, more info in the End Notes)
> 
> Lots of touchy-feely fuzzy feelings in this, and we might discover why Bucky always slept with a tshirt on...
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *******************

I start running along the edge of the water, towards the east. Slowly at first, leisurely, taking in the beautiful surroundings. Then I start accelerating, my bare feet splashing around in the small waves. I keep going for 2.8 miles, until I hear the same splashing sound behind me.  
**“So you thought I wouldn't catch up huh? And I even had time to shave and put some sunscreen on!”**  
**“I had my doubts, but don't show off Princess! After all, I'm a hell of a good runner”** I say, accelerating to leave him in the dust. But goddamn Steve Rogers is as stubborn as ever and catches up with me in seconds, which just makes me laugh in the end. We keep running side by side, in silence. We barely ever talk during our runs, simply enjoying each other's presence. However Steve did tell me that once we get back, we'll start running with Sam, and that I'll have to say something then. Some kind of joke about left and right... whatever.

After 6.2 miles, I guess our luck runs out: the sun is disappearing behind huge gray clouds. I slow down and so does he.  
**“Maybe we should head back... Looks like it's gonna rain soon.”**  
**“Ok champ, but last one at the bungalow is a palooka”** I shout, already running back.  
**“Not fair!”** I hear him complain behind me.  
Soon enough Steve's prediction comes true, the rain turning to an out and out monsoon, showering us with what feels like buckets of water. Running as fast as we can, laughing too, we get back to the room in a couple of minutes, which was still enough to get us drenched. My bun is falling apart under the weight of the water, my hair soaked to the scalp.  
Steve immediately take his shirt and shorts off and grabs a towel to start drying himself off.  
I have the same reflex and, without thinking, lift up my shirt in front of him, until I realize my mistake.  
But it's too late: Steve is frozen, as am I, mid-movement. His head tilted sideways, the towel in his hand, his hand not moving. The look of horror on his face, blended with shock, actually pains me. I finish taking my shirt off as I know it's already too late to backpedal now.

  
He lets the towel fall to the floor without a care in the world, gets closer to me, very carefully, as if approaching a wild animal he doesn't wanna scare away. And he's right to do so, but I back away nonetheless. _Retreat soldier, now_. He stops.  
**“What happened?? What... good God, Bucky, what did they do to you?”** His voice is pleading, I can hear the hurt in it. He's hurting from seeing all... this. I do not like it.  
**“I...”** My mouth is as dry as sandpaper.  
**“They... they had to operate. Cut out. Rep–replace. Keep me going. Imp–improve me. My arm wasn't the only thing. Sasha remembers."**  
**"Dear lord... They did all this??"**  
**"Most of it yes. Other are battle scars, from before they... they boosted my healing.”**  
Steve is sad. _Failing the objective._  
**“So... that's why you always kept your shirt on. Changed in the bathroom or when I wasn't around."**  
**"Affir–yes. I couldn't... I didn't want you to see. Not like that. You're sad now. In pain. It's my fault."**  
**"NO!”** He nearly shouts. I flinch. _RETREAT, NOW!_  
**“No... Sorry, I didn't mean to– But, Bucky, it's not your fault, it never will be. It's Hydra, it's those sons of bitches!"**  
**-Language.”** He smiles a bit at my feeble attempt to a joke... That's better. _Failure averted._  
**“Can I...?”** he's hesitant. My flight reflex is growing, powerful, hammering in my head _The Asset must run! RUN! NOW!_ But I don't want to. It's Steve. I know it's alright. I have to remind myself it is.  
**“Ye...yes.”**  
Extending one hand forward, he takes a first cautious step towards me, and another, not hurrying in the slightest. I know he wants me to feel safe, but I still recoil a little as he gets closer.  
**“It's ok. It's all okay Bucky. I won't hurt you, you know that.”**  
His fingers are two inches from me and, in a final approach, reach my skin. I immediately feel goosebumps crawl up my whole body. He looks me in the eyes then down where his fingers start tracing the puzzle of scars scattered all over my torso. Around my IP, its shape embossed under my skin. I remember how he went haywire when he discovered I had one. So much so that Sam and Natka had to go cool him down. But now he delicately traces its contour. He's in no rush. I guess he doesn't want to startle me again. His fingertips are warm and it feels like a small fire is spreading throughout me the more scars he explores. Finally he traces the ones on my left shoulder, where my metal arm meets with my body. These might be the ones I hate most, as their origins are the ones I remember best. The hologram is turned off, the shiny small plates visible. Steve doesn't seem to mind as he runs his touch all along it before taking me by my metal hand.

He doesn't need to talk, his gaze is enough for me to follow him. Directing me to the bed, he lets me sit on the edge of my own accord and gets on his knees, facing me. He is now tall enough that his head is nearly leveling with mine. Never thought I'd see that happening.  
He tucks strands of my dripping hair behind my ears before framing my face in his steady hands. Once again, the look in his eyes is enough: asking permission. I give a little nod. Permission granted. He tilts my head slightly down and plants the softest of kisses on my lips.  
We kissed in the previous days. A few times. But I remember each one vividly. Being Bucky or Sasha, or a mishmash of both, didn't make a difference: Each one is an unforgettable memory.  
But this one... I know this one is special. It makes me smile, and I sense Steve's lips imitating mine. It's the sweetest kiss I've ever tasted.  
He climbs on the bed, seating behind me, now discovering the constellation of mementos from a past life all over my back. Once again, his touch is soft, barely there but still reassuring. The monsoon has stopped outside and I can hear the sea again.  
Steve hesitantly press his lips to a scar on my right shoulder-blade, making me shiver a bit. But the trembling subsides once his arms are around me. His embrace is sure, safe. His torso against my back is like a barrier. A wall. Protecting me. But it's not a cage, and the moment I start moving he lets go. I turn around, putting my legs on the bed. He's sitting next to me, at a small distance, his legs under him. He doesn't move. He doesn't want to startle me. A silent moment passes, only disturbed by the white noise from the fan and the distant sound of waves.  
Permission granted. I don't have to talk or even move anymore, he sees it in my eyes, and me in his.

  
He kisses me again, as gently as the first one, before going deeper, growing more passionate.  
Nonetheless I know he's not demanding. He's offering. He's giving with such... I don't know. I can't properly remember. What are these sensations?  
I can't tell what I might be feeling, but I know something else could happen. Something more. Something I want.  
I put a hand on his hip and pull him to me as I lay down. _Rogers doesn't know what he_ – Steve doesn't know what he's doing. He's blushing. He's unsure. This is not Captain America, super soldier, champion of the people. This is Stephen Grant Rogers, Steve, the little guy from Brooklyn. I can see his look going from my eyes to my neck, to my chest. All the damages. Everything I wanted to hide. Exposed. Vulnerability oozing out from my every pore. It seems to bring his resolve back to life. He's sure again. Underwear gone. He's protective again. Holding me close. He's sheltering me. Cradling me. Taking me. Rocking me back and forth, like a ship on the sea.  
His body is the sea. He moves in waves, slow but unstoppable. Crashing over me. I remember now… the sound, the smells. The boardwalk, the seagulls, the East River lapping at the dock… everything is moving. Around me, over me, in me. Steve in me, Steve over me, his breathing. This is good.  My breathing. Something salty… water? Sea water? I don’t understand.  Steve stops. And that’s not good.  
**“Have I hurt you? Bucky, why are you crying?? Are you ok??”**  
Steve is alarmed. Am I…crying? It seems I am. So that’s what it was. Salty water.  
**“Yes. Shit, I’m... Sorry pal. But… I remember now. The boardwalk. The walks I took”** His concern turns into an expression I still have trouble interpreting. No one looked at me like that in a long time. _Except Rogers._ Except Steve. 

**“That’s…I’m so glad Buck"** he says. And I know he means it. I can see it, I can see the pride in his deep blue eyes.

**“So… you’re good?”** he asks, one of his thumb wiping away a tear. His expression. I think… I think I know now. It’s… tenderness. I remember that too. I felt it before, for him. He’s looking down at me with infinite tenderness. 

**“I am. Please don’t stop Steve. I need this...I need you.”**  He smiles, and that’s very good. I swear his smile could lit up the whole bungalow.

**“You've got me, I’m here Bucky.”** he says, brushing a finger under my chin, tilting my head up. He slowly leans down to kiss me, still careful, and I keep my eyes open. I take it all in. His face, his eyes, his lips. His gaze, kind and tender at the sight of my body. All the scars and marks and damages are forgotten. He made them disappear the moment he accepted them.  
Slowly the waves start again. The tide is rising. Inch by inch. A storm is coming and I grab his back. I can’t loose him. It’s growing stronger, wilder, and I tighten my grip. I know, I know I need to remember this. I want to remember, just like every single one of our kisses. Everything. The far-off echo from the beach, the faint noise the fan makes. Steve’s heavy breathing. The tang of sweat, sunscreen and rainwater on his skin. His hands in my hair, on my thighs, the small of my back. His mouth on my neck, near my earlobe, on my lips. His powerful muscles moving like ripples under my flesh fingers. My metal limb around him, keeping him close, so close. I need him.  
The storm is here. Around me, over me. In me. It makes a roaring sound. Or a groan. I groan. So does he. Louder. He calls my name, but I don’t know how to speak anymore. I only make noises. I wasn’t programmed for this. I wasn’t… Our bodies. So… So tense, to the breaking point, and…  
and…

  
I feel.

I can feel. Everything. Like a shockwave. I didn’t know I still could, not that intensely. The softness of flowing air. The satisfaction of sweat dripping down. The slight dampness of the sheets. My heart beating, so strong. The homely warmth of Steve’s spent body on top of mine. His hand on my cheek.  I breath in slowly, keeping the air in for a few seconds, just to savor it. Then let out a heavy sigh, lean my face into his touch, close my eyes. And for the first time in decades, there’s nothing to see. No ghosts haunting me. No silhouettes in white blouse or black overalls. Just peaceful emptiness, and the feeling of Steve’s sunny skin on mine. The fact that my whole torso and back are graveyards of surgical operations is still here, but I'm not as conscious of it. It doesn't matter. Not anymore.  
After a moment in silence, I try to formulate my main thought…  **“Steve. This... this is–”**  and fail. My brain is blocking the word, it’s not part of my training. _A weapon doesn’t need feelings._ But despite all that… I feel.  How to do this? _Reboot?_ Breathe. In and out. In and out. Again. Slowly. Letting Bucky out. Bringing me to the surface.  Steve props his head up to look at me, a mix of worry and curiosity on his face. But he is patient. He waits for my goddamn messed up brain to get the word out.

It finally does:  **“...love. This is love, right?”** I ask, unsure.  The same warm smile from before plays on his lips. He gently settles his head back on my chest, surely listening to my thumping heart.  

**“Yes Bucky. It's part of it. Just like the rest.”**

So I was right. All the longing, the craving. The few kisses. I wasn't certain at first. Now I am. I fucking am.  We stay like this. We do not move. This was part of my training, it’s easy. But now with Steve lying on top of me, his ear to my heart, it’s also… blissful.  Another storm is coming, outside. I hear the monsoon rain starting to pour down again as I drift away, not completely sure where my body ends and Steve's begins.  
*****  
I wake up and it's nigh time. What hour, I have no idea, but I know one thing: I haven't slept that much and that well since I escaped Hydra and started my life on the run. Maybe I've finally found the one “physical activity” that tires me enough. That'd be fucking ironic: the apparent solution to all my sleepless, angst ridden nights has been under my nose for months. Talking about that solution, I look next to me to see Steve entangled between the sheet and my body. He fell asleep on me but seem to have moved since. Now only his head rests on my chest, his arm across my waist, probably to make sure I'm still here. I plant a soft kiss in his tousled hair before very slowly extricating myself, letting his head gently slide onto a pillow so as to not wake him up. Then I stand there a few minutes, completely naked, looking at him sleep. I've never felt so at ease with my body than I do right now, and realize I have him to thank for that, my best friend. Surely my first love too when I think about it.  
Of course I'm still very conscious of all the scars marking me, each one a “souvenir” left from my time at the end of those sadistic scientists. But I feel like if he has accepted them, I should be able to do the same somehow. I give him a last glance, so relaxed, so free of worries in his slumber, before heading to the bathroom. I open the tap, grab my soap and step in the shower.

 

_Eyes barely opened and still groggy from sleep, I nonetheless notice very quickly that Bucky has left the bed. But as all my senses wake up one after the other, I hear the shower running. Good, he's still here. He hasn't fled, hasn't felt the need to run to the hills after what happened. And something... major happened. The memories of it flood my mind; images, feelings, sensations... His rough skin, still soft in some places, the expression on his face as I took him higher and higher, taking him in my mouth, being inside of him... it wasn't something I thought I could ever do, but now that it's done, it's a feeling I will never forget. Being so close to him, a blend of oblivion and unity rushing through me. After basking in the glow of what I remember being this morning, I get up and decide to go knock on the bathroom door. It might be too much too soon, but a sudden need to see him forces me to at least try._

  
_**“Come in!”** He pushes the shower curtain just a bit to greet me with a small but warm smile that I return._  
**_“Hi!”_ **  
**_“Hey...slept well?”_ **  
_**“Like a log! I just... just wanted to grab a towel”** I reply, lying through my teeth, wrapping said towel around my hips._  
**_“Actually... I've just got in, haven't even washed yet. Do you...”_ **  
**_“You mean... together? You don't mind?”_ **  
**_“After what happened, I'm not sure I mind anything anymore, or at least nothing coming from you anyway.”_ **  
**_“Ok then, let's get you cleaned up!”_ **  
_I drop the towel and enter the shower with him. It takes me a second to adjust to all his scars again, my brain having to put this layer on top of what I remember of Bucky's body before the war._

_He looks a bit anxious, until I give him a tender smile and, grabbing the soap, start cleaning him. My hands gently lathering his body, I take my time, going slowly but not teasingly. This moment is not about that, I don't want it to be. It's more like the calm after the storm, comfort after the effort. Which is why I untie his hair and proceed to wash it, massaging his scalp, willing him to relax, trying to get my feelings for him to sip through every move. After letting water run down his body to rinse him, he starts the whole process for me, even doing the silly foam mohawk with my hair. We start laughing, and I give him a little kiss. A simple peck on the mouth, saying I'm happy to be with him, but not asking for more._  
_We get out of the shower, quickly dry ourselves and decide to go back to bed. After all, we had enough exercise for one day._

  
_For the first time he climbs in with only boxer briefs on. No more tshirt or shorts. We lie down on our sides, next to each other and holding hands, simply looking at one another. That's when I understand a simple truth which had stayed buried for so long: right here, with him, is how I want to spend my life._

 

 *****

** END OF PART ONE **

*********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... they finally did it! I mean, even I was growing impatient, but what can I say: when you write you have to accept that your characters have a will of their own!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. If you did, please say so, as your love and appreciation is what fuels me and make me want to keep writing this.  
> And as always, don't forget to leave a kudo and go spread the love if you liked what you read! <3
> 
> ****************************************ANNOUNCEMENT****************************************  
> This year I have decided to take part in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which is this crazy challenge of writing a 50k words novel in... a month! It is taking place in November, and I have been prepping for it for a while.  
> Hence this announcement, by which I inform all of you my cherished and beloved readers that no, I'm not dropping out, I'm not disappearing on you either. But I am going on a Stucky hiatus for a month, taking that time to focus on my novel.  
> This program will henceforth resume for the festive season, but keep sharing and spreading the love! <3


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